


In Sickness And Health

by Audrey, Pantherlily



Series: Johnlock Series [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-03 05:50:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 95,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Audrey/pseuds/Audrey, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pantherlily/pseuds/Pantherlily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johnlock is the main focus with a case, although there is some Mystrade. Expect spoilers. AU post Baskerville, basically an alternate to The Reichenbach Fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first hand at a Sherlock fanfic. I wrote this story in conjunction with Audrey. She does John Watson brilliantly in my opinion. I wouldn't have been able to write this story without her! This is also my first time doing a collaborative fanfic, but I think it turned out rather well. First chapter is much lighter than future chapters. Expect things to get Johnlock-ed in later chapters.

Sherlock Holmes was _bored_. This was nothing new, as he was usually bored when he didn't have a case in progress. He was resting on the couch, wrapped up in his robe and staring at the ceiling. His gaze shifted to his flat mate. "John, I'm bored. I need a new case."

Doctor John Watson was sitting in an over sized chair, his laptop in his lap. He was reading the comments on his blog. He glanced up from his screen to look at Sherlock, who had finally spoken after an hour of silence. "I know. Lestrade hasn't texted us yet, I'm sorry. Make some tea or something."

With a groan of frustration, Sherlock turned away from John, mumbling something about how boring that would be. After awhile he rolled back over onto his back and lifted the sleeve of his robe up, and glanced down at the multiple patches upon his arm. "These nicotine patches aren't helping. I need more. Go out and buy me some?" It was almost a whining plea, something one woudld expect from a child and not a grown man.

A sigh escaped John's lips. Living with Sherlock was a testament to anyone's wits and nerves. He kept his tone mild, despite feeling slightly exasperated. "I am not your housekeeper, Sherlock. I'm your flat mate. I'm not going to go buy you nicotine patches. You want them bad enough then go out and buy them yourself. We are out of milk so you can buy that, too."

Again, Sherlock rolled away from John. This time in pouting defiance and muttered a string of incoherent things before he spoke clearly. "Going out to the store is boring. Also, we may need some more jam. I emptied the jar for one of my experiments."

The laptop nearly tumbled to the floor when John stood up quickly in anger. He clumsily caught it and set it on the floor. He then moved over toward the couch to confront Sherlock, his voice no longer mild. His exasperation was clear this time, his voice just an octave below yelling. "You what? You did not. Sherlock, you better be joking right now. You seriously better be kidding. Go buy some more jam. Now. Now, Sherlock. It is more fun than sitting here on the couch."

Sherlock didn't turn to look at John. He was still pouting over not having a new case and he rolled his eyes at the tirade over jam of all things. "You get upset over the silliest things, do you know that? It is only jam."

This time John didn't hold back and he started yelling. "NO IT'S NOT. IT'S NOT ONLY JAM. I bought that jar with my own money! You can't just go and use it for some little experiment. For all I know it ended up on the head of some dead person in our fridge!"

A head in jar that once held jam? How very improbable, it would never fit. Sherlock kept his initial thoughts to himself for once. "Actually, I put some beetles in it with some fingers. Wanted to see how quickly the buggers eat the fingers."

With control, John managed not to yell even though he was still livid. "I cannot believe you. I actually, literally cannot believe you. You are bloody mad, do yoknow that? I swear if my beer is gone, Sherlock..."

Finally, Sherlock flipped back over and looked at John. "I am the mad one? You are the one ranting and raving over a jar of jam."

With every word Sherlock spoke, John found it impossible to remain anything other than upset. "My jam, Sherlock. It was my jam. I don't use your food for experiments. I don't touch your food. That was my jam. I even put a label on it with my name. And you put bugs in it. That isn't normal."

Sherlock sat up for the first time since laying down on the couch. He sat with his feet on the cushions, so his knees came up to his chin. He steepled his fingers together and peered over them at John. "You are really upset over this whole jam thing aren't you? Interesting..."

"Stop deducing me. Stop doing that whole 'Sherlock' thing. Yes, Sherlock, I am upset. It was my property and you used it without asking. That's like primary school basics, that is. Don't touch other people's things. Or put bugs in them."

"Primary school was boring." Sherlock gave a faint shrug and maintained his akward sitting position.

The lack of any real response was more infuriating than Sherlock's actual words. "Figures. I should have seen that one coming, really. Everything is boring to you, isn't it?"

"Life is dull without a puzzle, John. Do we have a new case yet?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows hopefully.

"We do, actually. It is the case of my missing jar of jam. Solve it buy going to the store and buying some more." John was certain at this rate he was going to get a headache.

"Back to the jam again, are we? Here I thought we were passed it." Sherlock frowned as he studied his flat mate with intensity.

"You wanted a case. Still no text from Lestrade. I had to provide you some sort of entertainment. Otherwise you were going to continue bugging me like some child with too much sugar." Yes, defintely a headache at this rate.

"Well, I refuse the case then. It sounds boring. Can't you just go to the store and stop pouting? And you call me the child..." Sherlock trailed off, the small pouting frown still on his lips.

"I'm seriously resisting the impulse to punch you in the face right now. Entertain yourself then. I am not here to do that," John said, as he turned and walked away. He picked up the laptop off the floor and set on the desk. He sat down in the chair, and pretended to be busy doing something online.

Sherlock hopped up off the couch. "Good God, I will go get the jam."

John twisted in his chair to look at Sherlock. "That's all it took? You are kidding, aren't you? You're not actually going to go doing something domestic like buy the jam, are you?"

Sherlock walked to the bedroom to get proper clothes, but continued the conversation. "Well, I was just going to go downstairs and have Mrs. Hudson do it and then go for a walk. You told me to entertain myself, and I was going to go do just that."

"Sherlock, good Lord, you can't just pass it off to our landlady! I will go get the jam, alright? But if you use it for another one of your bloody experiments I will hurt you. I was a soldier. Come on, you are going to the store with me. I need to make sure you don't shoot the wall." John spoke while he shut down his lap top down and then walked toward the door.

Sherlock returned from the bedroom wearing his usual suit. He never wore a tie though, those things were the most unnecessary accessory to a clothing ensemble he had ever seen and he didn't understand why so many men wore them. He walked to the door as well, and put on his coat and scarf. "I was going out anyway, come on then."

John grabbed his coat on the way out, and brushed past Sherlock. "Don't wander off. We are going straight to the store and then straight back to the flat. Nothing in between. You got that?" He slipped on the coat and then started heading down the stairs.

Sherlock smirked ever so slightly as John passed by. "I wouldn't dream of it," he replied and followed after John down the stairs.

"I saw you smirk. I'm serious, Sherlock. You are not going anywhere else. I will hold your hand like a child if I really need to." John stepped outside and shivered, looking down the street. "Now... where is jam going to be the least expensive?"

The cold didn't seem to bother Sherlock. His coat and scarf always did a marvelous job of keeping him warm. "You just want to hold my hand so people will talk more than they already do and how should I know? I hate shopping, it is ordinary and boring."

John cleared his throat and blushed. "No, that's not it. That's a lie and you know it. We want less public attention, not more. Besides, I am talking to somebody. The last thing I need is her seeing a picture of us holding hands." He nodded to his right and began walking. "Come on, this way."

Sherlock smirked yet again, and stayed in place. He waited a beat and then said, "The market is the other way John."

John turned and glared at Sherlock. "I knew that." He walked the other direction quickly, clearly flustered. "I-I'm just nervous about the press, y'know?" He rubbed the back of his neck and then shrugged. "They have all these ideas about the two of us."

"The press is boring and stupid. They never get anything right. They think they know everything, when really they know nothing at all." Sherlock followed after John, seemingly oblivious to the implications just made.

"I know that, I am not as dumb as you think I am." John brought his shoulders up to ears and impatiently walked faster. "Would you use your long legs to walk faster? It is cold out here. This was stupid."

"I don't think you are dumb, you just don't stop and think about things sometimes." Sherlock continued to stroll down the sidewalk at his own pace.

"I think all the time, Sherl-" John stopped midsentence and turned around with a sigh. "You are impossible." He grabbed Sherlock's hand and tugged. "C'mon. Faster. Now. I'm freezing. The sooner we get there the faster I can get a warm cup of coffee."

Sherlock allowed John to tug him forward but when they passed someone smoking he stopped abruptly and inhaled deeply. "God, I needed that."

"Stop it! Stop." John squeezed Sherlock's hand and pulled him forward once more. "We will get you some patches while we are here. You're doing well. You don't need that." Once they are walking again, he settled at Sherlock's side. "Mrs. Hudson would kill me if she found out you were smoking again."

"But...I..." Sherlock trailed off and was drug forward once more. This time he kept in step with John and then he stopped again in realization. "Wait, jam is your nicotine...isn't it? That's why you got so upset about it being gone. Of course! I should have realized this sooner." He slapped his head with the palm of his free hand. "

Wha'?" John stumbled at the sudden stop. "No, Sherlock, no it's not. It's just my favorite food. Normal people have favorite foods that they really enjoy eating and not having bugs and fingers put in. It isn't my nicotine." He looked up impatiently at the taller man. "Are you done deducing for a bit? Can we go now?"

"What? Are you sure? People really are boring. Having a favorite food is about as exciting as having a favorite sport." Sherlock frowned in thought, but shrugged it off and then continued on.

"There's nothing wrong with either of those. I have a favorite sport." John pulled Sherlock into the store and released his hand. "Go find your patches. I will get the jam and milk." He glanced at Sherlock before wandering into the store. As an afterthought, he added "Don't wander off!"

Upon entering the store Sherlock couldn't help but glance at the other people in it. They all seemed to be boring people. However, there was a man that ended up drawing his attention. John was in between the check out area and the man. In his mind, he saw everything happen before it did. Reacting quickly, and yelling to get John's attention, he ran to John and tried to shove him out of the way when a gun went off. "At least the day isn't boring anymore," he mused, as collided with John.


	2. Chapter 2

John landed on the floor underneath Sherlock with a groan. "Oh, good Lord." He winced, shifted and groaned again. "G-Get off. Ambulance, call ambulance." He shoved weakly at Sherlock, trying to get a hand to the growing red spot on his right side. "Sh-Sherlock..." He bit his bottom lip and his head slammed against the floor.

Too late! He should have reacted sooner! Sherlock shook his head, as if clearing it. Now was not the time think, only act! He got off John and looked around for the shooter, who was already gone. A quick scan of the place showed everyone else cowering, screaming or both. He returned his attention to the injured doctor. "John, look at me. You are going to be fine." He took off his scarf and applied pressure to the bleeding.

John opened his eyes and whimpered. "H-Hurts." He tried to shift away from the pressure, taking shallow breaths. "C-Can't breathe, Sherl-" he closed his eyes, "Please, God, let me live." He opened them to look at Sherlock. "Don't let me die."

"You aren't going to die." Someone else must have called the authorities because sirens could be heard rushing to their location. Sherlock continued to apply pressure to the wound with one hand and then with his now bloodied other hand picked up John's and gave it a gentle squeeze. That was what people did when comforting others, wasn't it? "You are going to be fine." He wasn't sure who he was reassuring at this point, himself or John.

"Hurts worse than las' t-time." John laughed softly and gently squeezed Sherlock's hand back. "Looks like y-you got your case, yeah?" He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. "Be there when I wake up? Please? S-Scared." He whimpered and then kicked a foot against the floor.

"John, keep your eyes open and on me." It was important that John didn't go unconscious. Finally the ambulance showed up and they had to forcibly remove Sherlock from John's side so they can help. There was blood all over his hands and coat. Now was not the time to go into shock, he told himself mentally. Once again he shook his head, hoping to clear it.

John watched Sherlock the entire time before being loaded into the ambulance. L

estrade arrived on the scene shortly after the ambulance left and gently nudged Sherlock. "C'mon, I'll give you a ride to the hospital. He'll be in surgery. He's, uh...He's lost a lot of blood, Sherlock." He then nodded toward the bathroom. "Clean up first then we'll leave."

This was all his fault, if he had just gone to the store to get the damn jam himself instead of goading John into a fight and doing it. Sherlock watched the ambulance drive off and continued to watch even when it is out of sight. It wasn't until Lestrade spoke to him that he shifted his gaze. "I don't need to clean up! I'm going to the hospital!" He brushed past the Detective Inspector and went outside.

Lestrade sighed and ran after Sherlock. "I've got a car, you know. I was just saying, you're uh...getting odd looks. You're covered in blood, Sherlock." He pushed Sherlock near the car and opened the door. "Get in. We'll get there in five minutes flat if you listen."

"People always give me odd looks," Sherlock stated flatly and then got into the car as instructed.

Lestrade drove quickly to the hospital. Once there, he ushered Sherlock into the waiting room of the hospital and then moved to the front desk. "I talked with the nurses, Sherlock. John's..." He trailed off and swallowed hard. "He's going to be in surgery for a while, alright?" He sat down and patted the chair next to him, indicating to Sherlock that he should take a seat as well. "Wanna tell me what happened?"

Usually, Sherlock paced around his flat when he was bored. He wasn't bored right now though. He was worried? He paced around the waiting room because there wasn't a hell lot else he could do. Sitting just wouldn't do right now, so he continued his rapid pacing in circles. He stopped only to look at Lestrade when spoken to. This forced him to stop and think about the grocery store. In a matter of seconds he accessed everything he saw of the gunman. "We went for the store for jam and other triviial things. There was a man there with a gun. A Glock 17. It's an Austrian gun but the man is Yankee. Boring clothes, a black suit. 5"10'. Brown eyes and short brown hair. Ex-military. He had some sort of Special Forces tattoo on his left wrist. I didn't get good look at it, but I'd start with Rangers or Delta Force. Also, he was probably a mercenary for hire. A lot of retired military sell out their skill set. Sloppy work though, for someone who came across as a professional. In public like that…" He trailed off, going through various possibilities mentally.

Lestrade nodded, scribbling notes as quickly as he could. "Was he going after John, then?" He stood up and grabbed Sherlock's wrist, looking him in the eye. "It isn't your fault, y'know? Calm down. He'll be fine. He's been through this before. He's strong, Sherlock, and you know that as well as I do."

"It's possible, or someone is trying to hurt him to get to me. The latter is more likely." When Lestrade grabbed him by the wrist, Sherlock jerked away. "Don't touch me!" The words were practically a hiss. He was pissed and the Detective Inspector was an easy target. Childish? Probably, but he was used to others calling him a child by now.

Lestrade sighed and backed up a few steps. "Sorry. Just trying to help." He moved to sit down but noticed a doctor approaching and moved to speak with him. "Go back and see him, Sherlock. He's out. Still unconscious but you can go see him. I'll be back later." The Inspector turned and left. He watched the doctor talk to Lestrade. Based on the body language his friend, his only friend, was still alive. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he had holding.

A nurse moved to stand beside Sherlock and is about to escort him to John's room, when she noticed the blood all over his hands and coat. "Sir, are you okay? Perhaps you'd like to clean up?"

Sherlock waved a dismissive hand in reply to both questions.

The nurse hesitated a moment but then decided to say nothing more about it. "His room is this way, Mr. Holmes." She said and then led him down a set of hall ways.

Sherlock followed the nurse to the room and entered it quietly. "You owe me a new scarf." His voice was uncharacteristically quiet, and was barely audible above the hissing and beeping of the machines hooked up to John. He pulled up a chair and took a seat. Now all he could do was wait.


	3. Chapter 3

John woke up several hours later, groaned and tried to sit up. "Ah...Fu..." He fell back against the bed, looked over and noticed Sherlock. "W-What happened?" He closed eyes against the bright lights in the room. "Where are we?"

"Don't try and get up. You were shot and lost a lot of blood. You are in a hospital now. You will be..." Sherlock trailed off and amended his sentence, "you are fine."

John looked at Sherlock and narrowed his eyes. "Shot?" He closed his once more eyes and licked his lips. "Wonderful. Fantastic." He moved his hand and grabbed Sherlock's. "It...hurts...my side hurts..." He winced and squeezed Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock was quiet a few moments and squeezed the hand back, unsure what else to do at the moment. "John...I'm...sorry..." These words weren't something he was used to saying and almost never uttered them. It sounded strange, even to him, to hear.

"Not your fault." John laughed but quickly cut it short with a hiss, as a sharp pain in his side returned. "You di-didn't pull the trigger." He turned his head lazily and opened his eyes. "Thanks for being here." He smiled softly and moved to sit up again. "Wanna see where..." The heart monitor started to get louder as he attempted to pull the blanket from his bare chest in order to see the covered wound.

"John! Stop moving! If you want to see it, let me move the blanket." Sherlock stood up and reached for the blanket. Just then a nurse walked in, paused, blushed, muttered an apology and left.

John watched Sherlock for moment before seeing the nurse. "No...w-we're not..." He doesn't get a chance to finish because she had already left. He sighed and looked at Sherlock, the muscles on his stomach tensing as the blanket is pulled down. "Good Lord... " He poked at the bandage and winced. "He really got me, didn't he?" He looked at Sherlock like a young child and laughed lightly this time. "Good aim."

"You should stop worrying about what others think about us..." Once more, Sherlock changed his choice of words, "...you. Don't poke it! You could break the stitches and start bleeding all over again. You are a doctor, you should know better! And of course the bloke did, he was ex-military."

John tensed and looked at Sherlock. "Calm down, would you? This isn't your fault so don't act like it is. I'm fine, yeah? I'm up and talking to you. Not dead. Nothing to feel guilty about." He pulled the blanket up a bit and yawned. "A-Are you okay?"

"What? Of course I am okay. Why wouldn't I be? I wasn't the one who got." Sherlock wasn't sure why he was fretting over John so much. He identified the foriegn emotion as worry.

"Shot? Yeah, I know that because I'm the one laying in the bed and you're the one throwing a fit over there because you think this is your fault. I have picked up a few tricks from you, Sherlock, and you're clearly blaming yourself for this. You didn't do anything wrong."

"No, I'm not. I am fine. You should get some more sleep and save your strength." Of course, John was right even if he didn't want to admit it. Sherlock wasn't used to feeling worry, guilt or anything really.

"I can't believe you. You are really are acting like a child." John pulled on Sherlock's hand to pull Sherlock forward, and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's shoulders in a hug. "It's not your fault. I promise."

Sherlock was a bit taken back by the hug. He returned it, a bit awkwardly. Not because the hug felt awkward but because hugging others wasn't really his thing. Finally, he admitted what he had been thinking and feeling. "I was scared...the thought of losing you was more terrifying than that Baskerville Hound I hallucinated..." He pulled away then and turned around, his back to John. Were tears forming in his eyes? Was he turning into a dreadfully boring person who dwelt on things like feelings?

"Sh-Sherlock?" John sat up slightly, groaned but ignored it. He then reached out to touch Sherlock's shoulder. "I am fine. Look at me. I'm alive and breathing and none of it is your fault." He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "Pl-Please don't do this to yourself."

Sherlock cleared his throat and turned around but his eyes are to the ground. He didn't want John to see him like this. Hell, he didn't want to see himself like this. He quickly wiped at his eyes, as if something had gotten in them. His gaze finally lifted to meet John's. "I'm fine…just…well…you know…" His slender shoulders gave a small shrug as words faiedl him. It wasn't often that he was rendered speechless.

John sighed and then offered a smile. "You are impossible." He grabbed Sherlock's hand and gently tugged at him. "Get up here. I'm cold. I will even let you cry on my shoulder, that sound good? We can talk." He scooted slightly on the bed to give him room. "I do believe you have told me that once or twice before."

Sherlock moved forward, tentatively at first, but when John moved over, he slipped in next to him. "Now people really will talk." He gave that small smirk that he does ever so often.

"Oh, hush Sherlock. That nurse already saw us." John snuggled into Sherlock's side, and rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder. "Tell me what happened. Tell me why you feel like it's your fault." He placed hand over Sherlock's heart, ignoring the multiple wires attached to him.

The smirk only broadened at John's words. When he was snuggled into, he wasn't sure how to react at first. He quickly went to his mind palace, to come up with the proper response based on observing other social interactions. After a few moments he put an arm around John and pulled him slightly closer. "I shouldn't have irritated you so. If I had gone out for the jam like you had asked, you wouldn't gone to the store. Therefore, you wouldn't have been shot. So, obviously this is my fault. Cause and effect, it is so simple even you should see it."

John looked up at Sherlock and smiled, but it faded when the I-V tugged at the top of his hand and caused him to wince. "You have got to be kidding me. Sherlock, it happened. I am sure he would have shot somebody else. I was more than happy to go the store with you." He took a deep breath and laughed softly. "I like this hospital better than the one I was in the last time I was shot." He wiggled his right shoulder for emphasis, the gown slipped slightly to show part of the scar from his last gun-related incident.

Sherlock noticed the wince, and moved a little closer hoping to move John a little further so the I-V wouldn't tug at his skin. "John…you don't understand. That man was a professional. He was after you and targeted you specifically. You were an easy target at the store. I made you vulnerable to the attack. I should have noticed someone following us. I got to you too late…" He trailed off as the gown revealed the scar. With his free hand he reached out to touch it, unsure what had just compelled him to do such thing.

John watched Sherlock's hand for a moment before looking back up at him. "If they really wanted to get me then they would have done it sooner or later. Better to get it out of the way now." He rested his head against Sherlock's chest and closed his eyes. "I-I'm really tired, Sherlock. Gonna take a nap. Do you mind if I go back to sleep?" He moved his head to look at Sherlock through half-lidded eyes, yawning. "

Mmmmmm," was the only reply Sherlock gave in regards to the gunman. He decided to keep his theories to himself for the time being. No point in getting John agitated in this current state. "Not at all. You need your rest. I will be here when you wake up."

Almost instantly, John fell asleep but awoke up nearly half an hour later, holding tightly on to Sherlock. He breathed heavily and was covered in sweat. He groaned and tried to get his breathing under control. "Fu..." The heart monitor started to calm down as John took several deep breaths, burying himself further against Sherlock's side. He sniffed, trying to hide the obvious tears streaking his cheeks.

While John slept, Sherlock sat there as a lone sentry on guard. He thought about the gunman and all the things he would do when he caught up to the stranger. He decided that whatever it was, it would look like kittens, rainbows, and unicorns in comparison to what he had done to the man who had beaten and tortured Mrs. Hudson. His thoughts and vigil broke when John stirred. "Is...everything all right?"

"Hmmm?" John sniffed again and moved a hand to rub at his eyes. "Oh, y-yeah. Fine." He shook his head swiftly and blinked several times. "Good." He buried his face against Sherlock's chest and cleared his throat. "Wha' did'ju do while I slept?" He muttered into Sherlock's shirt as he tried to calm himself down.

"Humph." Sherlock snorted at the obvious lie. "You are about as convincing I was awhile ago. Oh...I went to my mind palace, had to keep myself entertained somehow."

John glared at Sherlock and pressed a hand at the other man's side to put some distance between them. "I had a bloody nightmare!" He shouted and then licked his lips. "I thought I was back in Afghanistan and I imagined getting shot again. It scared me. Y'happy now, Sherlock?" He closed his eyes and turned his head away from Sherlock.

A frown formed on Sherlock's lips. Had he said something wrong? This whole caring and sharing thing made about as much sense as Anderson did. He shifted, a sign of the discomfort he was feeling. Usually in this instance, he would say something to make John lash back more but he didn't want to exasperate his wounded friend. It was too early for that. So, he said nothing at all.

John took several deep breaths and looked back at Sherlock. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I usually don't have anybody in bed with me when I wake up from those nightmares which means I don't typically have to tell people. It's new." He lifted his hand and ran it through his hair, taking a quick intake of breath, as doing so pulled at his new wound. "Sorry, Sherlock."

"I never knew you had nightmares." Sherlock's tone of voice was light and surprisingly sincere. "Do you...want to talk about it?" He had hoped he found the appropriate social response this time. Maybe, when John was better he could teach him a few things about social interaction. Maybe it wasn't as stupid and boring as he thought it was.

John glanced at Sherlock and laughed softly. "Look at you, trying to socialize like a normal person." He looked up at the nurse who entered the room, checking everything and leaving with a bit of an awkward smile. "They're simple nightmares, really. It's just replaying everything in my head from the day I got shot. The shouts, and gunfire...and I usually wake up right when I get hit, like I did today..." He reached down to grab Sherlock's hand, intertwining their fingers together.

With a nod, Sherlock listened quietly. He evaluated the nurse in one glace, and when he was satisfied that she was a real nurse he pretty much just ignored her. When their fingers intertwined he gave a gentle squeeze, copying his flat mate's gesture from earlier. Once more, words failed him. Three times in one day, what was the world coming to?

"Stop thinking. I can practically hear you thinking. It is annoying." John laughed again and relaxed slightly, turning back to snuggle against Sherlock's side. "How was your mind palace while I was asleep? I'm just glad I didn't wake up to the sound of you shooting the wall."

A smirk formed on Sherlock's lips at John's words. Wait was John...snuggling with him? Focus. Answer the questions.  "It was delightfully refreshing and John, shooting in a hospital would be highly irresponsible." "

"Y'know you're going to have to care for me when we get back to the flat, right?" John looked up at Sherlock with a cocky grin. "Which means you will be buying all the milk and jam. And making me tea. And coffee." He bit his bottom lip and placed his hand over Sherlock's heart once more. "How does that sound to you?"

"Assuming Mrs. Hudson doesn't fuss over you incessantly and lets me do anything at all." When John put his hand over his heart, realization dawned upon him and he did something that surprised him. He smiled. "John, I do believe you may make a domesticated man out of me yet. However, if you are going to make me go out and buy jam, then you have to put up with my experiments."

John laughed and then jumped slightly at the increased sound of the heart monitor. "I forgot about Mrs. Hudson. She will certainly be treating me like a young child in the next few weeks, won't she?" He blushed quickly and buried his head against Sherlock's shirt. "Hush, Sherlock. Nobody could domesticate you." He took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of Sherlock's shirt and smiled softly. "I guess I can put up with some of your experiments." "

Indeed she will." Without thinking, Sherlock's hand reached out and he stroked John's head lightly. He thought about asking why John just sniffed his shirt but decided maybe he shouldn't. Instead he asked, "Well, how about I promise to only use your jars of jams when they are empty?"

John hummed at the feeling of Sherlock's hand on his head, pressing into the touch slightly. "Mmmhmm, like the sound of that promise." He gently curled a hand into a fist, dragging his fingernails against Sherlock's chest. "W-What would you need the jars for?" His speech has started to slur together, clearly giving away how tired he is and how he's fighting to stay awake.

Absently, Sherlock continued to gently caress John's locks. "You probably don't want to know, but we can discuss it later. Right now though, you should get some more rest. Your sleep was interrupted abruptly last time."

"N-No, don't need to sleepft." Another yawn escaped John's lips and he blinked several times, sighing as he relaxed further against Sherlock. "'S feels nice." He closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of Sherlock's light touch. "Tell me what you do. 'M bored. Entertain me".

Sherlock began to curl one of the locks around his finger. "I'm the one who is supposed to get bored. I insist you sleep, it will help in the recovery process. You of all people should know this."

With a quiet laugh, John shook his head. "Gonna be here for a while anyway..." Yet another yawn came forth, and the heart monitor started to slow down. "W-Wanna stay awake with you." Clearly, the pain killers are fogging his thought process. "W-Was gonna ask you f-for a kiss..." He curled his legs under the blanket, pressed them against Sherlock's hips as his arm pulled the other man closer against his body.

Sherlock was about to reply to the kiss comment, but his spine rippled with a chill he had never felt before. He decided he liked it. He nuzzled a little closer to John, closing the diminutive gap that was between them. Goodness, what was he doing? What was happening to him? Whatever it was, it was just beyond his grasp. This intangible thing, teasing him as it danced before him but he failed to capture it.

John felt the shiver, and briefly opened his eyes. He could feel how scared Sherlock was, easily reading the brief...fear? "You..." He trailed off, swallowed and opened his mouth several times before giving up, arching his back to placed a soft kiss on Sherlock's cheek. "Nigh' Sherlo' ..." Sleep found him easily, thinking of Sherlock but not realizing how odd this entire experience must be for the other man.

Sherlock continued to contemplate all these new feelings and thoughts that were stirring in him. However, he didn't understand them no matter how furiously he fought to do so. John's kiss brought him back to reality. Before he could reply or react, the other man had drifted into a slumber. A brief smile etched his lips and then he leaned his head down, giving a brief kiss on the top of John's head. His head then dipped down to the doctor's ear and he whispered, "No nightmares this time John." In theory subliminal messages while sleeping were supposed to work. He had tried listening to those tapes about quitting smoking on the rare occasions he did sleep but it hadn't worked for him. The voice had been too boring to listen to.


	4. Chapter 4

John slept for a few hours before waking up calmly, groaning softly at the pain of his new wound and involuntarily tightened his arms around Sherlock's torso. "Ouch..." He whispered and looked up at Sherlock, his gaze hazy and a slightly goofy smile graced his lips. "Hello." He yawned and bit his bottom lip. "Sorry I fell asleep on you. Literally...and figuratively…" He studied Sherlock's face and then freezes. "Oh G-Go- Did I kiss your cheek?"

Once more, Sherlock kept a vigilant watch over John as he slept. The nurse from last time came in at some point, but he barely noticed her as the woman did her routine check. He shifted a little when John woke up, to give the man a little wiggle room. "Yes, you did. You seem...surprised?" Just when he thought he was figuring this all out, he wound up more confused than last time.

"I w-was drugged. Very very drugged. I-If that made you uncomfortable, Sherlock, I am so sorry." He blushed, the tips of his ears turning a bright red. "A-Are you alright? W-Was that okay with you? I didn't want to move t-too fast..." With a groan, he buried his head into Sherlock's side. "I'm a bloody idiot."

"Drugs cloud inhibition, so you just did exactly what your brain was thinking at the time." Sherlock's tone was matter-of-fact, but it shifted to a lighter one when John once more buried his head into his chest. "It was fine. Move...too fast...?" Confusion clearly etched his features, but it didn't take him long to follow the line of thought. "Oh right, a phrase often coupled with well a couple. Wait...does that make...us?" Is that what was happening him? This seemed the most likely conclusion.

"Stop deducing," John grumbled like a small child, lightly smacked Sherlock on the chest. "I guess now would be a good time to do this, wouldn't it?" With a sigh he looked up at Sherlock. "I like you. I don't know why, because you're literally crazy, but I do. I'm drawn to you. A-And I wanted to tell you but I hadn't planned on doing it in a hospital after I kissed your cheek. If you want to be a c-couple...I mean, that's fantastic to me. Brilliant, really. I would like that. B-But you're Sherlock Holmes, y'know? You are a bloody genius. Can you even do relationships? Do you know what it's like to just want to cuddle with someone? To have a desire to just sleep in the same bed with them? Stay up at all hours of the night talking and laughing and kissing and making lo-" He coughed purposefully and then shifted against Sherlock's side, shaking his head. "I don't want to rush you into anything is what I'm saying."

"I can't help it, deducing is what I do." Sherlock was about to say more, but stopped short and listened quietly. He mulled over what John said before replying. "I don't know. I have never tried. Mainly because no one's ever been able to put up with me, except for you, God knows why. I know I can be an insufferable ass sometimes but I look at the world so differently than everyone else. It's hard...to relate...to anyone. Really, I didn't even care about relating to anyone before. But damn it all if I can help it that I actually care what you think. Am I cut out for the relationship thing? Oh, probably not. I know before I had told you I was married to my work, but I'm willing to try now. People can change if they want to, John, and I want to."

With a clear look of surprise, John stared up at Sherlock. His mouth hung open slightly and his eyes went wide. "I would snog you senseless right now if that heart monitor weren't going to alert the entire hospital to what we were actually doing." He shifted to place a soft kiss on Sherlock's neck, smiling the entire time. "Then we'll try. We'll see where it goes. You've got to promise me that, even if it doesn't work out, that we'll still be flat mates. I can't afford to move out." He laughed and reached across Sherlock's body to grab his hand, pulling it to his mouth and pressing kisses against Sherlock's knuckles.

"Pretty sure the whole hospital staff already knows. Your nurse is definitely a gossip and no matter what happens, we'll always be flat mates. You are the only one stupid enough to put up with me." The tingling feeling in his spine returned when John kissed his neck and hand. "Hmmm, what a masculine gesture. Here I thought, I would be the one to wear the pants in this relationship." Sherlock offered one of his small quirky smirks.

"You don't think my nurse told everybody?" John sat up slightly to look outside the room, watching the nurse intently before returning his gaze to Sherlock. "She wouldn't. That would be rude." He glanced down at their hands and blushed yet again, clearing his throat and biting his bottom lip. "Oh be quiet. It was just an intimate gesture, Sherlock. Besides, how could you wear the pants in the relationship if you have never even been in one?"

"Haven't you noticed the people looking at us, when they passed by the room? Of course she told everyone. You have been biting your lip a lot, you shouldn't you know. Bad habit." Sherlock fell silent for a moment as he pondered John's question. "Well, from what I have observed there is usually someone who is more dominant than the other. Clearly, you are the submissive in this case."

John narrowed his eyes at the reprimand of biting his lip. "I always bite my lip. You sound like my Mother, she always told me the same thing." He laughed softly and looked at Sherlock, smiling. "What gives you the idea that I am clearly the submissive? I'm a soldier, I don't submit to anything." His tone was full of jest as he squeezed Sherlock's hand."I know more about relationships than you do which means you would have to submit to my clearly superior knowledge."

"As a solider you are used to following orders and you know about relationships with women, not men. So, there our knowledge is equal. Hah! Imagine that, someone who knows about something as much, or in this case, little as I do. How delightfully entertaining this is going to turn out to be." Sherlock was enthralled with idea of learning something with someone, but right John needed to get better. The thought made him sigh.

"Sherlock...I was in the Army. You do know what we had to do for some... well, uh..." John cleared his throat and turned away. "Never mind. Sure. We know the same thing about men and relationships. Sure." He placed a quick kiss on Sherlock's cheek, before resting his head on the other man's shoulder. "Still blaming yourself for this whole thing? Do I need to knock some sense into you?"

"You've been with other men, then?" Sherlock frowned, unsure why this upset him. He put some thought into it, but is still confused him and even...made him angry? When John kissed him, whatever he was feeling ebbed a little. He tilted his head, so that their heads are touching. "John, until I find who shot you and who was behind hiring the mercenary I won't feel better." Although, he already had a sneaking suspicion who was behind it all.

"I...uh. Yeah." John nodded slowly. "I have, b-but only because we were in the middle of a blasted desert and we were all just a bit stressed and it got boring at night and we needed some way to relax and it just so happened we were an all-male unit and-" He paused and took a deep breath as Sherlock turned to face him, blushing slightly at how close they are. "Please feel better. For me, at least." He leaned forward and gently met Sherlock's lips.

As John explained what happened, the feeling of confusion mixed with anger returned. Everything had been going smoothly, so what had changed? Analyzing his emotions was something he scarcely did, since he just usually ignored them. Alone had kept if protected, but he didn't want that anymore. So, he tried his best to grasp what was going on. His thought process was halted when their lips meet. Another shiver over took him, and his heart skipped a beat. He returned the kiss, eyes closing instinctively.

John pressed his body against Sherlock's, moaning slightly into the kiss before pulling away. "So-Sorry. I, uh...I just wanted you to feel better." He licked lips and took a deep breath, looking away from Sherlock. "I hope it worked, though. I hope you feel better because none of this was your fault. Ever. It never will be, either."

When the kiss ended, his eyes fluttered back open. Here he was, shell shocked into silence again. Who knew trying this out would be so infuriatingly difficult to understand? However, he was Sherlock Holmes damn it and he liked a good challenge. He would make sense of these blasted emotions. He just needed some time in his mind palace to sort everything out, but right now John needed him so he put his analysis on hold. He put his hand on John's shoulder and tugged gently so they could look at each other eye to eye. "I am fine. I was upset earlier, but I've calmed down now. You did help and you don't need to keep apologizing to me. However, every time you do apologize it only proves my point that you are the submissive." He finished speaking with another smirk.

John playfully hit Sherlock on the shoulder, rolled his eyes and sighed for emphasis. "So, I am the submissive one, yeah. It is only natural. I'm a bit smaller than you so I guess it is obvious." He leaned forward and placed another kiss on Sherlock's lips. "I hope that wiped that blasted smirk off your face," he whispered against Sherlock's lips, lifting his eyes to meet the other man's gaze. "Don't tempt me, Sherlock Holmes. I've been told on more than one occasion that I am a rather fantastic kisser. Don't make me show you in front of so many gossip-desperate nurses."

The smirk indeed disappeared, replaced by a small but genuine smile from another kiss. His whole body quivered this time causing him to inadvertently nip instead of kissing back. "Actually, one of them has been staring the whole time. She is trying not to be obvious about it but isn't doing a very good job of it."

John was suddenly too distracted to even care about the nurse who had been watching them the whole time, more concerned with the fact that Sherlock just nipped at his lip. He went in for another kiss, pushing himself up slightly to try and get an advantage as he tugged gently at the other man's bottom lip, parting with a soft bite as he smiled. "Don't care, let her talk. Kissing you is bloody fantastic."

Sherlock's eyebrows arched in genuine surprise. "Really?" The words are murmured through the kiss. He shifted ever so slightly, so his lanky form wasn't in an awkward position. He slinked a little further down and towards John. His leg brushed John's in the process, giving his spine that now familiar tingle. He leaned into the biting, kisses. Unsure what to do next, he decided maybe he should try and follow the other man's lead. He did give a few nips in between kisses though since John seemed to like it.

John moaned softly into the kiss and pulled away as the sound of the heart monitor picked up. Sherlock's leg rubbing against his own had rattled him pretty quickly. "Why do you always end up being great at what you do? It took you five minutes to pick up kissing. It is ridiculous, honestly. I hate it." He grinned and placed several light kisses on Sherlock's neck, a free hand ran softly down the other man's stomach.

Worriedly Sherlock eyed the heart monitor. Perhaps now hadn't been the best time to... His thoughts trailed off when John began kissing his neck. He tilted his head slightly away from the other man, to give John more room. He couldn't help but squirm from his stomach being touched. His body was having a field day with overwhelming his brain synapses with a myriad of feelings, most of which he still didn't understand.

John took a hesitant glance up at Sherlock before his other hand pulled at the collar of the other man's shirt. He took a deep breath and nipped at Sherlock's collarbone, daringly pressing his hips against Sherlock's side with a soft moan. "You drive me crazy and you don't even know it," he whispered against Sherlock's skin.

There was a small part of Sherlock that was telling him maybe they should wait to continue this later, but for once logic failed to win. The rest of his body was teemed with emotions and twitches. It was also feeling really good. The sensations were overpowering, new and exciting. Why had he waited so long? He finally let his instincts take over and he kissed John's chin and slowly worked his way up to the ear lobe, where he nibbled gently. "Mmmhmmm," was the only reply he could muster at this point.

John choked slightly as Sherlock nibbled at his ear, taking several deep breaths and willed the heart monitor to quiet down. He was forced to pull away from the truly wonderful feeling as a nurse walked in. "S-Sorry." He blushed heavily and looked at Sherlock. "We'll stop. Want to heal properly and all." He placed a soft kiss on Sherlock's cheek as the nurse left. "As eager as you are to continue, Mister Holmes, it looks like you will have wait until we are back at the flat." He grinned happily, a sort of 'I told you so' on his kissing skills.

Sherlock eyed the nurse, a look of annoyance clearly written on his face. When his body had time to calm down enough to allow a logical thought process, he realized that things should most certainly wait. "I'm sorry for stressing your heart, I should have known better. I'm not quite sure what possessed me...it just...felt right. Is it always going to be so...intense?"

John laughed softly. "I imagine it might be this intense all the time. Especially with you." He took a sharp intake of breath and gripped at his side, groaned and without thinking, hit the call button for a nurse to come in. "Sharp. S-Sharp pain..." He slammed his eyes shut and threw his head back against his pillow, letting out a soft whimper. The nurse looked at John worriedly and politely asked Sherlock to get out of the bed as she signals for a doctor. "D-Didn't happen like this l-last time." His voice was softer now but the muscles in his arms and torso were tense.

Sherlock frowned with worry. "John," in a voice that was almost frantic, the name came out 'Jawn,' "what's wrong?" He slipped out of the bed so the nurses can do their job. He stood by the bed though, slightly to one side. He reached out his hand to take John's, but the doctor walked in and requested that Sherlock leave. "No." His voice was flat and resolute. "I'm right here...everything is going to be fine..." He was ignoring the doctor now, his intense gaze fixed upon John.

John shouted out in pain, causing nurses from the hall to sprint in to see what was going on.

The doctor quickly put drugs into John's I-V and didn't speak until John is completely asleep. "Mr. Holmes..." The doctor looked up at him and motioned for a nurse to start preparing John for a second surgery. "We might have a case of internal bleeding. Maybe we missed a bit of bone from his rib from the original wound, or even a piece of the bullet. We're going to prep him for a second surgery. Will you be able to stay here?"

"Missed something? What do you mean, _missed_ something? This is unacceptable. Don't you damn doctors know how to do your job?" Sherlock's voice rose with every word, clearly exhibiting the anger and frustration he was feeling. "Of course I will be able to stay, don't be stupid."

The doctor held up his hands defensively and waited until Sherlock is done to speak. "It happens all the time with gunshot wounds, especially near vital organs and bone. There could have been a small cut on one of Mr. Watson's vital organs that would be nearly impossible to see during the first surgery." The doctor nodded and motioned to the chair Sherlock had been sitting in. "It might be a few hours, make yourself comfortable." He turned and left the room.

Sherlock listened in silent fury as the doctor spoke. He glared at the doctor's back and instead of sitting down in the chair, he exited the room. He went to the waiting room and it didn't take him long to pick out someone who smoked. However, his bloodied appearance drew stares and it was difficult to get any real response out of someone. Eventually, Sherlock found someone who would talk to him. He bummed a cigarette and lighter off of them, then walked outside. He was about to light up, but he could practically hear John yelling at him for even thinking it. He cursed, threw the cigarette on the ground and stomped on it until it was unrecognizable. He drew a deep breath, and then calmly walked back inside the hospital as if nothing happened. He returned the unused lighter to the owner and went back to the room where John had been. At first he paced, like he had done in the hospital waiting room when he first arrived. In resignation, he finally slumped down into the chair. His fingers ended up steepled under his chin, and he allowed himself to escape to his mind place.


	5. Chapter 5

John was wheeled in several hours later, a breathing tube sticking out of his mouth, heart monitor pads spread across his chest and a bigger wrap around his bare torso to cover the gunshot wound. "We found a piece of bone, from his lowest rib, digging into his lung. We got there just in time, had it removed, and fixed the slight damage to his lung. We did do another blood transfusion, as well." The doctor didn't wait around to hear what Sherlock had to say. He merely left the room and let a young nurse move everything around and re-fill John's I-V.

Sherlock's ever observant gaze missed nothing, as he examined John from the chair. He only half listened to the doctor, mainly because he found the man not only boring but also incompetent. Stupidity coupled with being boring was just not something Sherlock could handle in people. He let the nurse do her job unmolested. Once she left, he pulled the chair right up to the bed. He grasped John's hand and laid his head down on the other man's shoulder. "Yo are going to be fine." His voice was a breathy whisper, directly into John's ear.

John slept for another half an hour before stirring, blinking several times into the light and coughing slightly around the breathing tube in his mouth. He groaned, squeezing Sherlock's hand and turned to look at the other man. What had happened? He only remembered kissing Sherlock, which might have actually been a dream. "Wha'?" He narrowed his eyes at the breathing tube in his mouth, moved forward and nudged Sherlock's forehead with his nose.

Sherlock didn't sleep and scarcely even blinked while John rested next to him. He squeezed the hand back, and then lifted his head when nudged. "You have tube down your throat, so try and not to talk. Everything is fine. I will see if these stupid doctors will remove it." He hailed a passing nursing and requested that the doctor come into the room. He gave another gentle squeeze, and waited for that bastard of a doctor to return.

John watched Sherlock intently, his eyes only half open. The doctor came in to remove the tube, causing John to gag slightly. "Thank you, Sir." He smiled warmly at the doctor before looking at Sherlock. He was clearly scared but his soldier training was making an appearance and his face was void of expression. "Are you alright?" His voice was low and he squeezed Sherlock's hand once again. "Hate worrying you."

Sherlock didn't say a word to the doctor and his expression was far from warm, it was more of a glowering stare. When the doctor left his face softened and he looked down to John, returning the squeeze. He was hesitant to share what was currently on his mind, the last time he tried John had been rushed up to surgery. "I am fine." He gave small smile of reassurance.

John smiled goofily at him, snorting softly before biting his bottom lip. "You don't look fine," he mumbled and slowly leaned forward to place a quick, sloppy kiss on Sherlock's lips. "I love you, d'you know tha'?" He let his head fall back on the mattress, looking at Sherlock with a drugged daze. "Don' like it when you are upset."

"Just upset with the doctors. Bloody idiots. The lot of them," Sherlock admitted. He wasn't sure how to react to those three words. The drugs were clearly taking their effect but sometimes people were the most honest without any inhibitions. Was that what was happening to him? It seemed the most viable conclusion. Or was he just over thinking this? Damn it all if he wasn't able to find the right words yet again.

"I'm a doctor. I am not an idiot." John took a deep breath and studied Sherlock, his eyebrows brought together and his lips pursed. "'M really tired, Sherlock." He shifted on the bed and made enough room for the other man. "Lay with me? Please?" He sounded more like a child than anything but he didn't seem to care at the moment. All he knew was that he wanted Sherlock's body near his when the drugs pulled him back to sleep.

"I wasn't talking about you. I was talking about the doctors taking care of you," Sherlock replied mildly. Once more he hesitated before acting. There was some trepidation on his part. The last time he had crawled into the bed with John, things...happened...albeit nice things had happened but he found it almost impossible to think straight then. That and he didn't want to...over excite? John again like last time. After some contemplation, he opted to crawl in next John. He just had to remind himself to behave.

John watched him with a lazy smile, instantly curling against Sherlock's side and rested his head against Sherlock's chest. "I sleep better when you are here. Less nightmares." He shifted to place a soft kiss on Sherlock's neck. "Tha's why I love you." He relaxed and quickly fell asleep, the heart monitor calm.

A nurse came in for a moment to check on John, smiling softly at Sherlock before leaving the room.

Sherlock smiled slightly at John's words. Well, at least that was something he was getting right. As before, he whispered in John's ear once he is asleep. "No, nightmares John." Hopefully the subliminal messaging would work its magic once more. He shifted a little, their head's touching now. He took hold of the sleeping man's hand, his thumb absently stroking the other man's skin lightly. Sleep sounded tempting, but there was no way he was going to sleep while an unknown enemy to John was still at large.

John woke up with a small jump, his eyes instantly moving to Sherlock. He frantically studied Sherlock's face as he gasped for air before letting his body go limp. "Bloody Hell." He groaned softly at the bit of pain in his side. He moved the hand off of Sherlock's chest and absently moved it to the scar on his right shoulder, his eyes locked on the wall.

Sherlock had been resting, somewhere between sleep and consciousness. When John started to wake, it in turn startled him. He almost fell off the bed, but he grabbednthe side to keep himself on it. Once his wits returned and the initial shock left, he looked to John. "Another nightmare?" He situated himself so he was comfortable again, but he kept his worried gaze on the other man.

"Hmmm?" John quickly moved away from his scar and he shook his head. "Nope. Just the chills." He shifted closer to Sherlock for emphasis. His heart monitor was still loud and fast but John pointedly ignored it. "Didn't mean to wake you." He shifted against Sherlock, moving to gently kiss the other man.

"I wasn't sleeping, just…resting…" Sherlock leaned away from the kiss, not because he didn't want to but because the heart monitor had him worried. "John, you need to take it easy for awhile."

"'M fine," John muttered it like a small child but didn't move in for another kiss, instead rested his head on Sherlock's chest. "What in the world happened? I remember talking with you... and then pain." He blinked several times before looking up at Sherlock. "You need to sleep. I don't mean to be rude, but you look horrible."

Sherlock put his hand on the back of John's head, his thumb lightly rubbing small circles. "They had to take you back up to surgery. Apparently the doctor's here are bloody morons." He offered a small smile of reassurance. "I'm fine. I look worse than I am. I have stayed awake fifty hours straight before, so this is nothing." It was no wonder he looked like shit though, he was still covered in John's blood, which was dried by now. That and was exhausted, not physically though. This time in the hospital had been taxing. Was it possible to be emotionally drained? Or even worse, mentally?

"At least go wash up, will you?" John grabbed Sherlock's free hand and winced. "I'm not so keen on seeing my blood on your body. Must have been horrible." *He smiled a bit as he looked up at Sherlock. "Go clean yourself up. I promise I'm not going anywhere." John placed a quick kiss on Sherlock's cheek before turning to the nurse who has entered the room. The nurse offered him a small tray of food, sitting in the chair beside the bed and handing John a piece of dry toast. "Thank you," John said with a smile. The nurse blushed and giggled. John winked playfully at her before taking a bite of the toast and looking back at Sherlock. "Alright, then? Clean up!"

Sherlock was completely oblivious of the nurse flirting with John. He glanced down at his coat and then inspected his hands, some of the blood had chipped off but most of it was still there. He finally got up, at John's urging. He walked into the bathroom connected to the room. He flicked on the light, washed his hands and then shed his coat. There was a lot of blood on it and he thought back to the gripping fear he had felt in the grocery store as he watched John get shot all over again. "Damn it. Pull it together," he muttered to himself and then inspected the rest of his clothes. None of the blood had seeped through onto his suit. He vacated the bathroom as the nurse left the room after feeding John. He followed her outside, stopped her and dropped his tone when he spoke. "Next time...put some jam on it for him? Even if it is just a little?" He didn't wait for an answer and he walked back into the room.

The nurse nodded even though Sherlock can't see it and rushed to the rest of the nurses to gossip about the two men.

John shifted on the bed, folding his hands in his lap and sighed. "Are you sure you are doing alright? I know you enjoy cases and all, Sherlock, but..." He paused and shrugged, wincing slightly as the movement tugged at his new wound. "We are seriously involved now. Are you going to be able to handle it?"

"I'm _fine_." Sherlock raised his eyebrows at the last question. "Of course I will be able to handle it, why wouldn't I?"

"You just look... different. Tired. More tired than I have ever seen you. You are allowed to sleep, y'know. And don't do that whole 'I don't need to sleep' rubbish, because you do." John took a deep breath, looking a bit nervous after standing up to Sherlock. "I'm worried about you, that's all."

"Do I?" Sherlock considered the words, shrugged and then moved back over to the bed. "I'll be fine. I can sleep later. I need to stay awake, in case the shooter comes back to finish the job." He stretched his long limbs and then climbed back in next to John.

John instantly snuggled up to Sherlock and took the liberty of tucking himself under the other man's arm. "There is no way anybody can get back here, Sherlock. Please, take a few hours to rest. For me." He let his hand run up and down Sherlock's chest as he studied his face, a look of worry making John's eyes wide. "Please." He placed a soft kiss to Sherlock's neck.

When John snuggled into him, Sherlock's hand came to rest on his flat mate's head, running his long fingers through the short hair. "Don't be naïve John, it's a possibility. If you think you can seduce me into sleeping, think again." That ever present smirk, returned to his lips once more.

John growled a bit and sighed, his hand still running along Sherlock's chest. "I will stay awake. I am perfectly capable of protecting myself. I'm a soldier, remember?" He shifted slightly to meet Sherlock's lips. "I will make it up to you."

"A solider who has been kidnapped and held at gunpoint multiple times since returning home from the war. Your argument is invalid. Also, you just had major surgery _twice_ and hooked up to a bunch of machines confining your mobility. So, the answer is no. Absolutely not," Sherlock replied with stout resolution.

Lestrade strolled in and stopped mid stride in the door frame at seeing the two men in the hospital bed together.

John furrowed his brows and was about to reply until he saw Lestrade. His heart monitor got louder and his hand held tighter to Sherlock. "Le-Lestrade! Hi. Hello." He cleared his throat and looked at Sherlock. "What are doing here?"

Lestrade cleared his throat. "Told Sherlock I would come back and check up on you. I can come back later if I am...interrupting...?" He offered a small cough and looked away.

Sherlock was more concerned with John's heart monitor to care about what the Detective Inspector was talking about.

John took several deep breaths to calm himself before speaking. "Oh. Well. Yes. Right. Sherlock, why don't you go talk to Greg in the hall? I am sure you two have things to discuss. Um..." John blushed and bit his bottom lip, keeping his gaze on Sherlock's chest so he wouldn't have to look at Lestrade.

Sherlock finally gave his attention to Lestrade. "I already told him everything of relevance. I have nothing left to discuss, unless you have news already Inspector?"

Lestrade shook his head, cleared his throat again and then just left.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows in confusion. "Was it something I said? I thought I was rather pleasant this time around..."

"Sherlock, you were fine. I think that he's just a bit shocked. We are…" John trailed off and took a deep breath and groaned, burying his face into Sherlock's shirt. "Oh God. He is going to tell everyone. Sherlock, everybody is going to know."

"You seem upset by this...?" Sherlock inflected his voice just slightly, the confusion on his face returning. "He would have found out sooner or later, or maybe even figure it out on his own if he was capable of thinking at all."

"No, not upset. Embarrassed. I am extremely embarrassed. I know he would have found out. I would have just preferred a different way. And perhaps later into this relationship." John glanced up at Sherlock, studying him intently. He seemed confused and suddenly John felt a bit of a tug in his stomach. "It isn't you, Sherlock. I am so happy to have you."

Sherlock nodded slightly, understanding...sort of. Would he ever get the hang of this? Make sense of how muddled his brain felt? He was totally out of his element. Maybe even out of his league? What had he gotten himself into? Was this fair to John? "Do you...think I can do this...?" His gaze met John's, searchingly. Never before had he questioned or doubted himself, but he had been serious when he wanted to try and change. It was just now, he wasn't so sure anymore. Every time he thought he had it, something new came along to muck it all up again.

John looked at Sherlock and smiled softly, shrugging a bit. "Yeah, I think you can. If you really want it, I mean. I really want this, Sherlock. I really do." He propped himself up on his elbow and gently met Sherlock's lips, nipping at his bottom lip and letting one hand move to tug softly at the belt of Sherlock's pants.

"I do, I really want to try." Sherlock was going to say more but he was easily distracted by everything John was doing. The enticing tingle returned and his body squirmed, not in attempt to get away but more of a natural reflex. Once the spasm passed, Sherlock turned his body toward John and leaned into him. His left leg twitched and his breathing increased into a rapid intake of air.

John smiled into the kiss, resting a hand on Sherlock's hip and giving it a quick squeeze. "Good. That's good." He moved his lips to Sherlock's neck and tugged at Sherlock's hip with an impatient growl. "I will walk you through it all."

Sherlock's body twitched against John, writhing into it. A small moan escaped his throaty breathing. Since John seemed to like the nibbling last time, his lips found the other man's ear and he gnawed on the bottom lobe lightly. His hand tugged at John some, trying to pull his flat mate on top of his lithe form.

John let a loud moan escape his mouth, eagerly shifting to settle on top of Sherlock's body and ignored the uncomfortable tug of everything attached to his body. He wiggled slightly before settling his hips on Sherlock's legs, eagerly pressing his hips against the body beneath him. "Y-You okay with this?" John pulled away from Sherlock's neck, panting and extremely pale, moving his hands to start unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt.

Sherlock shifted to where John had been laying, so the wires tugged less. "Oh God yes..." He trailed off as he took in John's look. "Maybe we should wait. You don't look so good..." His hand moved to John's haltingly.

"No. Good. I'm good." John swallowed hard and pushed Sherlock's hands away, pressing open-mouth kisses to the exposed parts of Sherlock's chest. "'M fine." He took a shaky breath and instantly decided to continue talking to drown out the increasing sound of the heart monitor. "Have you ever done this before? I mean, we aren't going to do much, honestly. We're in a hospital bed. That would be ridiculous." He took another shaky breath and rest his head on Sherlock's chest, using this moment of rest to place more kisses on Sherlock's chest.

The shivering tingles returned when his chest got kissed. " _Me_? We've met right?" Sherlock gave a small laugh. Damn that heart monitoring beeping... "John, please...we should wait until you are better." He shifted his body to the left at an incline, trying to gently slide John off of him and back onto the hospital bed.

John quickly placed his hands on either side of Sherlock, looking up at him before sighing. "Fine. Alright. C-Can you…" He bit his bottom lip and pressed his body back against Sherlock. "Would it be too uncomfortable for me to sleep on top of you?" His voice was hushed and he wasn't looking at Sherlock, the tips of his ears a bright red. "I would r-really like that."

"All right, but be still. Otherwise I might end up getting up and throwing that infernal heart monitor out the window." Sherlock eased onto his back once more, his hand coming up to caress John's back, his fingers tracing up and down lightly.

John laughed softly as the color slowly returned to his face, his eyes bright as he looked up at Sherlock. "I'll try. Being close to you, though..." He shrugged and placed a quick kiss on Sherlock's chin. "Would you be terribly offended if I fell asleep? It would give you a chance to sleep, too." It didn't sound like much of an option, John hoped. He wanted Sherlock to sleep. One hand moved to rest beside his face, the other to rest on Sherlock's shoulder. "Sleep."

"Of course not, sleep is important in the recovery process." Sherlock's fingers continued their light trail on John's back. "You really are persistent, aren't you? I'm not sure which of is more stubborn. I'll try, but no promises."

John moved to open his mouth again but the soothing motion of Sherlock's hand on his back had the most calming effect on him. He muttered something unintelligible into Sherlock's chest, licked his lips and took a deep breath before relaxing. The heart monitor calmed almost instantly and the moment it did a nurse walked in, smiling softly.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes." She was quiet as she checked John's vitals, studying the smaller man before looking at Sherlock. "We're worried about him, he's a stubborn one. You being here is really calming him down." She rubbed the back of her neck. "D'you need anything, Mr. Holmes? Food? Water?"

Sherlock shifted slightly, so the nurse was in his line of vision. "I'm fine." His reply was tacit, mainly because small talk was something he loathed. God, did people sleep like this often? The full weight of someone on you? He shifted again, trying to get comfortable. So much to learn still.

John mumbled and squeezed his eyes tighter shut, the heart monitor picking up again as he sleepily shifted against Sherlock. "Wan' me t'move?" His voice was quiet and low, holding a small touch of pain. "Can sleep next t'you." He relaxed again, dozing without waiting for Sherlock's answer.

Sherlock was about to hush John and tell him to go back to sleep but the other man does so without needing prompting. He decided to call the nurse back in, because it occurred to him he did have a request. When the nurse returned, he asked, "do you have a bell you could tie to the door? Multiple bells would be better actually."

The nurse stood there for a long moment before laughing softly. "I'm sure I could do that. I... Uh... Detective Inspector Lestrade? He-He's actually posted himself down the hall. J-Just so you know." She smiled softly, eyeing John with a bit of a blush before leaving the room. She returned several minutes later, tying ridiculous looking Christmas bells to the door and pulling it so it was barely open. "There you go, Mr. Holmes." She left with a warm smile.

Sherlock would have preferred the door completely closed but he found the nurse annoying, so he didn't call her again. So, Lestrade was down the hall? Maybe he'd underestimated the Detecitve Inspector sometimes. He mentally shrugged off his thoughts, and he let his eyes close. The weariness of the day washed over him like a tidal wave and it didn't take him long to fall asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

John slept for several hours, waking up slowly and instantly letting a small smile tug at the end of his lips. He was sleeping on top of Sherlock, who was warm, comfier than he looked, and was fast asleep. Of course he had been right, Sherlock had looked horrible and needed sleep. John winced as the pain in his side became increasingly obvious. The urge to call the nurse and get more pain medication was strong but he decided against it, rather enjoying the peacefulness of Sherlock finally sleeping. He yawned and took a deep breath, letting himself daydream and stare out the window of his room at the nurse's station.

Sherlock slept a few hours longer than John did. His body had been in desperate need of the recharge and had more or less shut down on him, forcing him to sleep. He awoke groggily but feeling better. He almost never slept at long intervals like that, usually only needing a few hours sleep tops. "How are you feeling?" He asked, noticing that John was already awake and probably had been for awhile now.

"Good. Very good." John smiled at Sherlock and his obviously groggy state, reaching a hand up to run down Sherlock's cheek. He wasn't going to tell Sherlock that he was in pain and his head was light and he felt dizzy. "How about you? Did you sleep well?"

Sherlock eyed John suspiciously. "Slept longer than I wanted but I do feel better." His gaze shifted to the door, it was still in the same spot it had been when he had fallen asleep. He returned his attention to John. "I'm not sure how long I slept, but it is obvious the pain medication the nurse administered before we both dozed off has worn off. If you won't call her in, I will."

"You slept for a very long time." John grinned but it faltered when he sighed. "Sherlock, I am fine. Stop deducing me for one minute, will you? Enjoy my company." He moved a hand to grab Sherlock's, lacing their fingers together and squeezed. "Because I'm scared. I just need somebody to be here for me. That's your job." He hid his face at the admission, snuggling against Sherlock's chest. "D'you want me to move off'a you? I can help make you a bit more comfortable." Sherlock returned the squeeze but sighed as well.

"John, I am here. I never left..." Sherlock trailed off, feeling frustrated. Was he missing something here? "You can stay on top, if it will help you feel better?"

"I would like that." John glanced at Sherlock and licked his lips. "What's wrong? You look bothered. Talk to me. That's what people do. You are allowed to tell me what's wrong." He placed several kisses on Sherlock's neck, nipping slightly in an attempt to leave a mark.

"I am trying to understand this relationship thing and it is infuriatingly confusing at times, that is all." Sherlock tilted his head slightly, exposing his neck more. His one hand, stayed in John's and his other moved up to his head. He found he enjoyed running his hand through John's hair. It was soft to the touch.

"That's generally how all relationships are. Trust me. They are always confusing, sometimes they're irritating." John smirked, clearly satisfied with himself as he pulled away from Sherlock's neck. "But mostly it is rewarding, fun and amazing."

"Humph. Well, I like knowing and understanding things. It is what I do." Sherlock's phone vibrated in his trouser pocket, and he let go of John's hand, pulled out his cell and looked at it. 'New Text' was displayed across the screen and he clicked it open. His eyes narrowed briefly, but he closed the phone calmly and stuffed it back into his pocket.

John laughed softly. "Just think of it as a new experience. Learning something new and, hopefully, not boring." He frowned slightly at the loss of Sherlock's hand, his eyebrows lowering. "What was that?" He propped himself up slight. "Sherlock? Who texted you?" He grabbed Sherlock's hand again, squeezing it and bringing it to his lips for a quick kiss.

"Oh, just Mycroft. He is being...annoying...nothing to worry about." Sherlock rubbed his thumb over John's hand lightly, his other hand still absently played in the other man's hair.

John leaned into Sherlock's touch, humming appreciatively at the feeling. "Must've been important. He usually calls. What'd he want?" He shifted slightly against Sherlock to get his mind off the pain in his side.

Sherlock was quiet a moment. Lie? Tell the truth? He decided to go with a half truth. "He thinks Moriarty is behind your shooting, which I pretty much already came to the conclusion on my own. I'm not sure if the point was to kill you now, but most likely to keep me distracted. He is up to something John, I just know it."

John snorted softly against Sherlock's neck, looking up at him with a raised brow. "I could've told you that. It was rather obvious, didn't need Mycroft to tell me that." He shifted slightly though to hide the discomfort he was feeling at the entire situation. They were going after him to try and break Sherlock. He wasn't dead this time. He could very well be the next. He sighed and closed his eyes to try and clear his thoughts. "I'm good now, that's all that matters."

"Mmmmm," was Sherlock's only reply for awhile, clearly losing himself to his thoughts. "Try not to worry about it." He continued to lightly stroke John's head.

"Bit tough to just forget, Sherlock. I got shot, in case it slipped your mind. I'm laying in a blasted hospital bed, on top of my boyfriend, because some mad man is out there and wants me dead. Can't just shake that out of my mind." John didn't bother to hide his frustration, the muscles in his arms tense and his hands curled into fists. The hand on his head was doing some to calm him down but his breathing was labored as he continued to speak. "Sorry. I'm sorry. Shouldn't have said that."

Sherlock remained silent once more. He continued his almost methodical stroking of John's head. Most people probably would have lashed back, but he supposed he wasn't most people. He kept his thoughts to himself, something he was accustomed to already.

John's doctor entered the room, not even hesitating at the scene in front of him. "Doctor Watson, we are a bit worried about the amount of blood you lost. Especially since we had to perform two surgeries. We were going to release you today but we would prefer to keep you over night. I will check on you later." He left quietly without waiting for a reply.

John turned to Sherlock and laughed softly. "Just my bloody luck. Would you want me to get off you? Give you a chance to breathe?"

While John's doctor wasn't his favorite person in the hospital, Sherlock managed not to make rude or snide remark while the man was in the room. He nodded in response to the question. "Well, I am getting a bit cramped in this same position…" He trailed off with a slight shrug. They were going to let John go home? Already?

John lifted himself up, moving to his back beside Sherlock and propped himself up.

The nurse entered with a tray of food, more dry toast and a glass of orange juice.

"Thank you." John smiled warmly at the nurse, who clearly got flustered as she leaves. "You will have to balance taking care of me and handling cases. Think you can do that?" He took a bite of his dry toast and smiled at Sherlock.

Sherlock stretched a bit once John was off of him, his joints creaked and popped back into place. He eyed the dry toast, mentally cursing the nurse for not putting jam on it. Mainly because she had left before he could say anything. "Well, while I'm doing cases I'm sure Mrs. Hudson will look after you. That and I will be more useful searching for the shooter than playing wet nurse."

John took another bite and shot Sherlock a glance from the corner of his eyes. "Y'know the Yard is on it, right? And...I mean, it isn't being a wet nurse. It's taking care of your-" He cut himself off before he said 'boyfriend' by taking a large gulp of his orange juice. "You can do both. Honestly." John tried to hide his frustration by taking several fast bites of his toast.

"Please, the Yard hires people like Anderson. It is amazing they are capable of solving anything without my help. Besides, they are no match of Moriarty. A real case John. This is going to be so exciting. Finally! It'll be a glorious chase." Sherlock was utterly oblivious to how John felt, as he was so caught up in the excitement of finally not being bored anymore.

"Yup. Good. Wonderful." John pushed the rest of his meal aside, looking at Sherlock before pulling the blanket up to cover his exposed torso. "Should be a good one for you to solve. The attempted murder of your boyfriend. Great blasted case."

"It will be!" Sherlock clapped his hands together; if he hadn't been laying down he would have done a spinning jump as well. John's reaction and demeanor finally registered and his eyebrows crinkled together in confusion. "Is something wrong?"

John shook his head and turned his back to Sherlock. "Of course not. You are only excited about the man who tried to BLOODY MURDER ME." The heart monitor picked up and the nurses outside the room froze to inspect the argument happening behind the window. John took a deep, shaky breath and pulled the blanket to his neck.

Sherlock failed to see what the problem was. Why was John so upset? He got excited when he got a new case. "I am not excited someone tried to kill you, quite the opposite. I'm excited for the hunt, the chase. I thought you knew this about me already?"

"This is different, Sherlock. This is so different." John rolled over slowly, wincing at the tugging of his right side. "I don't want you to get hurt, alright? I don't care that some random idiot tried to shoot me. It happened once before and I survived and moved on. Why can't you just drop it and let Lestrade handle the case? I just want you…" John sighed as he trailed off with a shake of his head. "I just want you near me in the flat while I'm healing. I don't want you out there alone."

"Different? It is just another case. Lestrade is way out of his league in something like this. You are just worrying too much. If it's any consolation the man who shot you was found dead earlier today. That was what Mycroft had messaged me about. Don't you see John? It's what Moriarty wants, he's trying to distract me and I'm not going to let him. I won't fall for his smoke and mirrors trick. I need to figure out what he is up to and stop him. I worked alone before we were flat mates, I will be fine."

"Sherlock!" John was completely tense now, looking at Sherlock before glancing out the window of their room. They had attracted quite a crowd of nurses and a few doctors. "I know you did this before we were flat mates. I understand that. B-But- He's dead. The shooter's dead. Your job is done then, isn't it? Can't we just leave it? Ever think that Moriarty wants you to chase after him? Ever think that not chasing him might solve the problem?"

Once he started thinking about and working a case, Sherlock had a one track mind. This was no exception, whatever sharing and caring he had been capable of just moments before, had dissipated at the prospect of the case. Perhaps, he wouldn't be able to change after all. "And let Moriarty win? I'm not going to lose to the likes of him! Besides, if I don't stop him then who will? Think of all the people who'd get hurt if I didn't." While he cared more about the chase, he added the last part to play to John's strong sense of morality. Manipulating others was easy, but for the first time he felt…regret?

John tensed, his face calmed slightly before he nodded. It was no use arguing with Sherlock, even if he had already snogged the other man speechless more than once. That was, apparently, a different time entirely to Sherlock. He glanced over at the warm body next to him, shifted to move closer to him without a word and placed several soft kisses down Sherlock's neck. "Fine," he muttered it against his neck as he let a few of his fingers slip between the buttons of Sherlock's shirt, brushing lightly at the skin beneath.

Sherlock nodded a little, and then tilted his neck reflexively from the kissing on his neck to once again expose his skin. He was quiet for awhile, reflecting on the conversation. Something, somewhere finally clicked. When he finally spoke, his tone was soft. "Thank you John, thank you for understanding. I need to do this."

"No sense in arguing with you," John replied half-joking as he pulled away from Sherlock's neck, smirking a bit at the deep red mark he's left on the other man's pale skin. "You were going to go out and do it either way. I can't be selfish and want to keep you locked in the flat so you can't get hurt." He deftly undid a few buttons on Sherlock's shirt, completely slipping his hand inside and grinned at the feeling of warm skin. "I just hope you don't get hurt."

After a shudder of pleasure from his chest being touched, Sherlock replied. "I will be fine. Haven't lost a fight yet. Try not to worry about it too much." He resumed the scratching of John's head, which had been momentarily forgotten about during their argument.

"Doesn't mean it can't happen, Sherlock." John's voice was rough despite the calming feeling of Sherlock's motions on his scalp. "This is the greatest feeling, just being with you." He looked up at Sherlock and smiled softly. "That and you running your hand through my hair. Like that, too." He ran his fingernails against Sherlock's stomach lightly, moving to suck gently at the stop below Sherlock's ear.

"It is nice, isn't it? I like your hair, it is very soft. Fancy that, me liking something not intellectual." Sherlock smirked a little. He took a few strands of John's longer hairs and twirled them around on his finger.

"Was planning on getting it cut when I got out of here." John moved to meet Sherlock's gaze. "Should I change my plans so you can continue to enjoy it?" He moved his hand further up Sherlock's torso, resting just below the other man's armpit. "It's the military man in me. I just have this need to keep my hair short." John was too focused on Sherlock and their current situation to even care about the case anymore.

"Keep it long just enough to twirl, something fun about that." Sherlock released the hair by untwisting it slowly from his finger and resumed just the light gliding to and fro through John's tresses.

"You are so oddly fascinated with everything, aren't you?" John closed his eyes and realized almost immediately how exhausted he was. Suddenly, he didn''t want to open his eyes again. "Hate to disappoint you but I think I'm going back to my extremely short military hair. Like it better. Less management." John's voice was nearly a whisper and he ended his sentence with a yawn, the hand under Sherlock's shirt relaxed against the warm skin. "When're you going to start this case, then? Going to drop me off at home and then saunter off? Leave me in the care of Mrs. Hudson?"

"It is new, so a little I suppose. Still trying to understand everything and figure it out as I go." Admittedly he was a little disappointed, but Sherlock kept that to himself. "It's your hair, do what you like. Well, it seems likely you will be released tomorrow. I had planned on starting the case the day after, actually. So, I can get a full day's work in. Unless, something happens that requires my immediate attention." His fingers ceased riffling through John's hair, and his thumb rested between the hair line and where his ear is. He rubbed at it lightly, hoping it will settle John down so his flat mate can get some more sleep.

"No time for you to rest after this ordeal, then?" John moaned softly in appreciation at the feeling of Sherlock's hand. "You're trying to get me to fall back asleep." He smiled softly, yawned, and relaxed further against Sherlock's body. "You going to sleep, too?"

"I did sleep. I won't need to sleep again for awhile. You should rest though, because you had two surgeries after losing a lot of blood. If it will help you sleep, you can crawl back on top". Sherlock continued the gentle massage just above John's ear. His other hand folded up and rested on John's hand.

John shook his head weakly without responding to Sherlock, lifting one leg from under the hospital blanket and draped it over Sherlock's leg. "You are warm," he whispered without a second thought as he pressed his stomach against Sherlock's side, slowly drifting off.

Sherlock's leg twitched slightly, as John's came in contact with his. When the other man drifted off to sleep, he resumed his light petting of John's head. While John slept, he contemplated the case. He had a few theories, but nothing would be concrete until he started investigating. John only slept for an hour and woke up with a groan, his side throbbing. "Christ, Sherlock, you keep getting warmer." He didn't move at all because, in all honesty, he enjoyed the warmth of Sherlock's body that he, for some reason, didn't seem to have at the moment. "Honestly, how are you so warm?" His words were mumbled in Sherlock's chest, his eye still closed.

Sherlock frowned, he didn't feel warm. His hand moved to John's forehead, his hand backwards to see if maybe if John had a fever but getting the chills. Had the wound got infected maybe?

John hissed as Sherlock touched his forehead, pulling away instantly. "Seriously, you have got to have a fever or something." He opened his eyes, taking several deep breaths and groaned as it hurt his side. He licked his lips and winced when he realized he was sweating, giving a small shiver and struggling to decide if he wanted to press closer to Sherlock's warmth or push the other man out of his bed.

"I'm not the one with a fever you are. Damn it, you must have an infection..." Sherlock's hand found the nurse's call button and he began pressing it repeatedly.


	7. Chapter 7

The usual nurse rushed into the room, freezing the moment as she saw John. She leaned out the door and shouted for a doctor, who ran in almost immediately. He pulled John away from Sherlock, the soldier not even putting up a fight and locked his eyes on the ceiling as the doctor pulled the bandages from John's wound. The skin around it had turned a deep red and it was extremely hot to the touch.

John hissed again, reaching out and grabbing Sherlock's hand. "Ouch...Sh-Sherlock."

The doctor was sitting in the chair now, beside John's bed, and methodically cleaning John's wound.

"S-Stop. Make it stop."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he leaned his head over to peer at the wound. Well, this doctor was bloody useless. How had they missed this until now? With restraint he avoided yelling colorful words at the doctor. Not because it would be rude but because he didn't want to distract the doctor from treating John. He took John's hand and squeezed it reassuringly but removed himself from the bed so the hospital staff wouldn't have to work around him. "Hush, let them do their job. Everything will be all right."

John turned his head to look at Sherlock, clearly exhausted and a bit frustrated. "I'm a better doctor than this." He laughed, cutting it short with a quick intake of breath. "And I had to save people in the middle of a bloody war."

The doctor stood, slowly and shot John a glare before pulling his gloves off. "Alright, Doctor Watson, it looks like we've got that clean for now. We will put an antibiotic in your I-V and have you take some pills. You should still be fine to go home in the morning. Mr. Holmes, when he's home you're going to have to clean his wound, at least once every three hours or so." The doctor stayed next to John's bed, looking at Sherlock. "Think you can do that?"

John ignored the doctor, his eyes closed as he had already fallen asleep.

Sherlock smirked thinly at John's words, but it quickly disappeared at the doctor's glare. He fixated his own glare upon the doctor and when John dozed off once more, he moved around the bed and got in the doctor's face and stared him down. He glared his silent fury, resisting the urge to punch the man in the face. "Of course I can handle that. I'm not an idiot, unlike some people in this room." He glowered again, looking pointedly at the doctor.

The doctor moved out of the room swiftly, completely shutting the door behind him as he left. The sound was loud and echoed through the room, causing John to shift slightly on the bed, moving to his back. The blanket shifted around him, wrapped low around his hips and leaving little to the imagination. He didn't seem to care as he took one arm and threw it over his eyes, grunting slightly before once again falling asleep. He slept for hours, waking up with a sharp intake of breath and instantly sitting up. The wires tugged at his chest and arms but his eyes were frantically scanning the room. That dream had been new. New and scarier than anything Afghanistan had been.

Sherlock snorted as the door slammed shut. John's movement drew his gaze. To avoid disturbing John further, he opted to sit down in the chair instead of climbing back into the bed. He was deep in thought, when John stirred roughly. Once more, his gaze focused on the other man. A small frown formed on his lips at the look on John's face. "Another nightmare?"

John jumped at the sound of Sherlock's voice, turning swiftly toward Sherlock without a second thought. He was alive. Sherlock wasn't dead. "Yeah." He nodded his head and swallowed. He was quiet after that, willing his heart to calm down as the dream replayed in his mind. They were at the store. He saw the gun. Sherlock jumped in front of him, getting shot. John can't save him. He lost his best friend. John swiftly shook his head and fell back on to the mattress, blushing a bit when he realized the blanket was tugging at his underwear it was so low.

The frown on Sherlock's face deepened, the frown reaching his eyebrows now and they furrowed together in worry. He brought his fingers under his chin and steepled them together, as he often did when he was thinking. He was studying John's face, so he was completely oblivious to the other man's lower torso being a bit exposed. He was waiting for John to elaborate and when he didn't, he finally spoke. "Do you want to talk about it?"

John turned his head to study Sherlock. "Figured you would have deduced it by now." He wasn't sure if that was supposed to be sarcastic or not. He sighed and opened his mouth several times. "You got shot." The voice he heard was hoarse and low. "You got in front of me and got shot. I couldn't save you." He bit his bottom lip and slammed his head back against the mattress, clearly trying not to cry. "I just watched you die." He took shaky breath.

Sherlock was about to reply to John's initial response, but he fell quiet when the dream was explained to him. His silence lengthened, as he continued to watch John thoughtfully. He wasn't sure what to say, although understood fully. He imagined the same fear that gripped him at seeing John get shot, was the same his flat mate felt in the dream. Since he was unable to come up with a verbal reply to help make John feel better, he got up out of the chair and snuggled in next to the other man. His hand searched for John's to hold comfortingly.

John instantly grabbed Sherlock's hand, lacing their fingers together as he turned to snuggle against the other man. "Sorry. I'm sorry." He closed his eyes and instantly told himself that this was real, that Sherlock was really next to him. "I'm sorry about arguing with you over the blasted jam and for being a daft idiot and getting shot and making you sit in the hospital with me." He took a deep breath and moved to meet Sherlock's lips, looking for any sort of distraction from his thoughts.

Sherlock squeezed the hand when their fingers intertwined together. "No need to apologize. Everything is fine. Deep breaths. Try and think of something else." He tilted his head, so it rested against John's.

John tried to listen to Sherlock but he had decided, quite irrationally, that he needed to be as close to the other man as possible. He roughly yanked at Sherlock's shirt, sending two buttons flying in random directions. "Too vivid to forget. Thought I lost you." His voice was still rough and he moved his lips to the exposed skin of Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock eyed his shirt, as the buttons went flying. He quirked a brow but any thought he was going to form was lost when John's lip touched his chest. His breathing became a little more rapid, his hand squeezing John's. His free hand moved to the other man's back, his own body squirmed into John's without him really realizing it.

John quickly regretted his choice of letting his aggression, or was it him being possessive? because his side was hurting. He could feel the stitches tugging at his skin and he could feel the blood run across his stomach. He didn't speak as he pulled away from Sherlock, his hand moving to mop up as much blood as he could and attempted to hide it from Sherlock. "The case. Where are you going to start?" He needed to keep his mind off of how close Sherlock was too him, of the blood covering his hand. "Talk to Lestrade, at least?"

Sherlock looked to John, worry lines crinkled across his brows, when his flat mate moved away. He followed the motion of John's hand to the stomach. Ignoring the questions about the case, he asked his own. "John, what's wrong?" Then the answer became evident, upon seeing blood. Damn it! He felt like he was doing more harm than good staying here right about now. John needed to get better and he kept mucking it by distracting or stressing the injured doctor all for what...? His insatiable curiosity about everything going on? He called for a nurse verbally this time, once again disengaging from the bed so when help came he wouldn't be in the way.

"Damn it, Sherlock." John's voice was a whisper, his eyes narrowed as the door opened and the nurse walked in.

"Oh, Doctor Watson..." She grabbed gloves and pulled John's hands away, slowly cleaning the blood off of his stomach and then quickly cleaning the wound. "We'll re-bandage that despite the infection and then just send you home with extra bandages." She smiled warmly as she threw the gloves away, moving across the room to grab bandages. "Looks like you've stayed in shape after the Army." Her comment was just one for small talk but it was obvious that she was inspecting his body in a less-than-professional manner.

John merely nodded, tensing as the bandage was applied to his side.

The nurse left, a bit awkwardly, and without another word.

John looked over at Sherlock. "I was fine."

Sherlock cleared his throat, a little too loudly at the nurse when she left. He made a mental note to never visit this hospital again after they left, between incompetent doctors and leering nurses; he was getting a bit agitated with this place. Worrying over John only made it worse. He took a seat in the chair once more, keeping to his thoughts to himself.

"Not talking to me then? Mature. Very adult-like, Sherlock." John shifted in the bed and pulled his blanket up to his chest, glanced out the window uncomfortably. He didn't mind the attention from the nurse, really. There was a reason he kept himself in shape. If Sherlock hadn't been in the room, if he hadn't been about to shag him in the hospital bed, he would have flirted right back to the nurse. "Going to talk to me about the case?"

Sherlock looked up to John. "Hmm, what? I was thinking..." It took a moment for the questiong to register. The case? Right. "I will probably investigate the scene where the shooter was found dead first and maybe go pay Molly a visit at the lab. See what turns up and go from there."

"Lestrade. You've got to talk to him, Sherlock. I know he's already on the case." John felt on edge now. He didn't know why but it might be because Sherlock was so far away, the comfort he had been enjoying was gone. "He's not completely incompetent, you know. He is the best the Yard has. You don't need to treat him like he can't do his job." He didn't bother looking at Sherlock, instead keeping his eyes locked on the ceiling like it was much more interesting than Sherlock's eyes. "And you're going to need help since I can't exactly do anything now."

Sherlock snorted lightly at the thought of Lestrade being the best the Yard had to offer. "I will utilize him, if I find it necessary to do so. I like, well liked, working alone until you started helping me. I will be fine on my own. I doubt Lestrade and I would be able to stand each other for long periods of time."

"Sherlock, this isn't all about you. You need to involve the police or this could get really dangerous. It could be you next time. You could die." John was sitting up now; nearly yelling at Sherlock like a father would do to his son. "You may think you can do this on your own but Moriarty is a mad man. Worse than you. If you refuse to work with Lestrade than I guess I'm coming with you."

"No! Absolutely not! Don't be daft. You are staying at the flat. I won't allow you to leave! You are to stay home to recover." Sherlock raised his voice slightly, sitting up in the chair straighter and looked at John. "Fine...I'll bring the useless Inspector. Humph...and you call me child sometimes..." His arms crossed over his chest, clearly pouting.

John fell back against the mattress with an exasperated sigh. "Just to keep you safe, Sherlock. It's for your own good." He wanted to yell, to fight, to punch Sherlock in the face, but just yelling had exhausted him. "And every time you feel like sauntering off on your own then remember that I will hunt you down, bullet hole in my side or not." His words were soft and turned his back to Sherlock the best he can without laying on his injured side.

"And _I'm_ the impossible one," Sherlock muttered and slumped back into his chair. He turned away as well, still pouting at the thought of haing to work with Lestrade for long periods of time.

"You are impossible," John snapped back almost immediately without looking over his shoulder at Sherlock. "We wouldn't be in this situation if you weren't impossible." John tensed right away at what he had just said, realizing right away that he was far more upset than he thought. He hadn't meant to say that because, in reality, it was bound to happen sooner or later with Moriarty on their tail.

Sherlock physically recoiled at the words, something he had never done before in his life. The words were the truth and for some reason they hurt. "You're right, I'm sorry." He disentangled his lanky form, and then got up from the chair. He stood there a few seconds, looking at John with a pained look in his eyes. Without another word he turned and made his way to the door.

John watched him for a long moment, almost opened his mouth to stop Sherlock, when Lestrade walked in.

"Sherlock, we've got to go. We've got a hit on Moriarty." Lestrade glanced at John and winced slightly at the tension he suddenly felt in the room. "C'mon." He nodded his head in the direction of the door, taking a step out himself and rubbing the back of his neck. "We haven't got much time, Sherlock, we've got to go."

Sherlock paused when Lestrade showed up. His own words surprised him when he spoke, because he never thought he would utter them. "No. I quit. Moriarty wins." The words were like vinegar in mouth. "Happy John?" These words came out harsh and bitter. He then moved forward once more and brushed past the Detective Inspector.


	8. Chapter 8

John wanted to move, to jump out of the bed and run after Sherlock. He settled for falling back against his mattress and listening to Lestrade's footsteps as the Detective Inspector ran after Sherlock himself.

"Sherlock? What the Hell? He nearly killed John. C'mon, we've really go to go. You can't just give up." He jogged in front of Sherlock to stop him. "I don't care if you had a bloody domestic with John. This is serious."

Sherlock stopped when Lestrade stepped in front of him. He did a good bit of glaring but finally relented. Although, his tone of voice was still crisp. "I'll need a gun and before you try and talk me out of it by saying 'I am too emotional', need I remind you we are going after Moriarty."

"I've got one down in my car already. I have a car arranged to pick John up tomorrow, already talked to Mrs. Hudson so she will be taking care of him when he gets back to your flat." Lestrade was moving again, rushing toward the door. "They spotted him near your flat, actually. You can deduce what all that means but we're pretty sure he broke in. Any reason why he'd want in your flat, Sherlock?"

Sherlock merely nodded and then followed after Lestrade, by a mere few paces, almost running the Inspector over in his new found haste. "Well, it is unlikely he would want to steal anything. I don't have anything of monetary value he'd want. Probably to leave a message or a taunting note. Perhaps both. He has proven he likes bombs, but I doubt he'd be so careless as to rig a deadly trap and then get spotted. Although, a trap of some sort may be laying in wait. He probably let himself be seen because he wants to make sure I play his game."

Lestrade got in and started the car, once Sherlock was in as well. "Either way, he broke in. That's alarming. He knew you two were going to get into a row over something so simple. He knew what store John was going to pick. We might have to place your flat under surveillance." After awhile, the car came to a stop, he got out, then paused right outside his car. "We have been contacted by your brother. He is doing his own surveillance. We are fairly sure he had something to do with John's shooter being found dead." He shot Sherlock a look before opening the car door and deftly slipping a gun into Sherlock's hand. "We've got to secure your flat before John gets back tomorrow."

Sherlock didn't find it alarming but he kept that to himself. "He probably bugged the place at some point when John and I were out, easy enough to do. Possibly Mycroft was involved in the shooting, though more likely that Moriarty is tying up loose ends." Good God, was he going to have to explain everything to this man? He missed John already. He shouldn't have left like that. He stopped his thoughts before they can over take him. He needed to stay sharp and on guard. He took the gun and got out of the car. Of course they needed to clear the flat before John got out of the hospital. He wasn't sure why the Inspector had felt the need to state such a obvious thing. Not surprsingly, Lestrade was already getting on his already frayed nerves.

Lestrade followed Sherlock into the flat, quickly moving ahead of him before the top of the stairs. He entered the flat quietly, looking around the living room and kitchen before moving to Sherlock and John's bedrooms. "All clear." He reappeared in the living room with his arms crossed. "Find the bugs, I guess. Maybe clean up a bit before John returns from the hospital."

Sherlock didn't really expect to find much at the flat and when it was cleared he put the gun away. He was about to search for bugs when a horrifying thought hit him. "Lestrade, tell me you left someone to watch John's room?" A panic he didn't know he was capable of feeling hit him like a tornado in a trailer park. He pulled out his cell phone so hastily, he almost dropped it on the floor. He would have text John, except it was likely the cell phone was in a bag with other personal effects. He recalled seeing the phone number to the hospital when he was in the waiting room, pressed the numbers and then added in John's room number for the extension to go through.

Lestrade almost instantly turned white and watched as Sherlock dial the number. He almost wished it was on speaker.

John answered the phone quickly, as told, and spoke. "Hello, Sherlock." His voice was tense and he was eyeing the man in his room. "Did you find anything at the flat?" He hoped Sherlock could understand the situation through his voice.

Stupid! How could he be so stupid? He should have seen this coming! Now he remembered why he didn't let his emotions do any talking, they got in the way of everything. Sherlock quickly glanced around the flat to see if anything was amiss. There was a piece of paper folded up on John's laptop. He walked over to it and opened it. "Yes, I found the note John." He more or less ignored that Lestrade was even in the room, all his attention focused on the note and the phone call. He wasn't going to miss a single thing this time around.

"That's good. Just do what the note says Sherlock." John wanted to say please, to beg him to hurry and get to the hospital. He settled for staying calm, something he thanked the military for. "And be careful." There was a pause before he sighed and shook his head. "He juss left. Got a gun. Don't take any chances. I have no idea how he got into the hospital. I am going to assume the note is from Moriarty?"

Sherlock listened to everything intently. The sound of John's voice, any movements in the room, the sound of the machines, every sound wave he could pick up and committed them to memory. He didn't trust himself to speak so he clicked the cell phone closed. Hopefully, John would understand. He put the note down and fired up John's laptop.

John slowly lowered the hospital phone and sighed, calming himself down because he knew Sherlock wouldn't let anything happen.

Lestrade tensed and watched Sherlock. "What are you doing? You can't just hang up on him. Sherlock, now we don't know what's going on."

Sherlock kept his gaze on the computer screen, while he spoke. "No, you don't know what's going on." He clicked away busily on the keyboard, and his eyes finally moved to meet Lestrade's. He motioned ever so slightly with his head that he wanted Lestrade to look at the screen.

The message on the screen read: _Do not react to this. Just read. Moriarty is probably still listening in. I want him to think I'm losing it. So, do that annoying thing where you talk and I'll begin yelling at you and berating you. Do try to sell it Greg, a ridiculous name by the way. I need him to think he has an edge on me._

Lestrade briefly glanced at the screen, looking back at Sherlock before nodding with an instantly serious face. "Sherlock, honestly. There is nothing here and you just hung up on the only person who can really help us. This is useless. We both know that, even though you're too proud to admit it." He glanced at Sherlock before shrugging and rubbing the back of his neck. "Maybe I could bring Anderson in to sweep the room? See what he can find?"

"No, having Anderson in my flat was one time too many! I'll do my own sweep!" Sherlock got up and begun throwing things around and breaking other things. He even threw a lamp toward Lestrade, but missed on purpose.

Lestrade watched Sherlock with wide eyes before shaking his head and trying to stay with the act. "Sherlock! He can find anything, honestly. You hate him but we've got to do it. D-Don't you want to keep him safe?" Was that a safe question? He had no idea but he figured it might help keep Sherlock on edge and as upset as possible. "It will be much faster."

"What do you think I am trying to do?" This was true enough. Everything Sherlock was doing was for John. He had to fix this. No matter what John said, this was his fault. He continued to throw things and dump things upside down and all over the floor. With the frustration he was feeling right now, it was actually pretty therapeutic. "This is all your fault! I should have never left John alone at the hospital!"

The truth in Sherlock's statement was completely obvious despite their game. It stung and Lestrade flinched. He needed to keep his composure for this all to work, for Sherlock and John to get out of the mess. "Oh, Hell, I didn't think it would get this bad, alright? I thought hospitals were safe. John's a military man, Sherlock. He will be fine." The Detective Inspector was slowly starting to wonder if this was a game anymore with all of the words being exchanged. "You can easily go back, if you like. I'll search the flat myself."

"He's a military man who just lost a lot of blood and had not one, but two major surgeries! He is on pain killers that make him sleepy, how the bloody hell is he supposed to defend himself?" Sherlock was almost yelling now. A pile of papers neatly stacked on the desk became his next target of the rage he was beginning to feel. They scattered all over the floor. His eyes suddenly focused on the painted smiley on the wall. He walked over the coffee table and stepped up onto it and then onto the couch cushions. He crouched slightly and then slammed his hand, palm first, into the center of the face.

Lestrade was now very sure that their plan had turned into a very serious situation. He watched Sherlock, wincing as the other man's hand hits the wall. "C'mon. Let's go." He didn't know where. They can't go back to the hospital because somebody was already there with John. He moved to the laptop and typed quickly, turning the screen to face Sherlock.

_What now? Keep going? Hospital? John?_

He set the laptop down and shoved his hands in the pocket of his jacket. "He will be fine, Sherlock. We both know he has been through worse."

Sherlock turned, holding up his hand he just slammed into the wall. Embedded in his skin, was small metal bits of electronics. He smirked, despite the stabbing sensation in his hand and the light trickle of blood that now ran down to his elbow. He held up a finger, to make sure Lestrade stayed silent. He absently brushed his hand on a seat cushion got up and went over to the laptop.

_Probably more than one bug. Do your silly sweep if you must. I am going out._

He reached over and picked up the note, shoving it into his pocket.

Lestrade hesitated before pulling out his cell phone, requesting a search of Sherlock's flat.

Sherlock typed another message into the computer.

_Under no circumstances must you or anyone else must go the hospital. Rules of the game. The game, Lestrade, is on._

There was a lot to do still, this was just the beginning of his elaborate plan. Hopefully, he would come out on top. He had to believe he would. Never before had he doubted himself, but now there was much more at stake than just his pride. He could not fail, he would not.

Lestrade nodded and grabbed the laptop. "I'm glad you decided to calm down, Sherlock. You just need to take a few deep breaths. I am sure he's fine." He continued typing, keeping his eyes trained steadily on Sherlock.

_Waiting for John to call again? Where are you going now?_

He shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking form heel to toe while glancing around the flat. "We'll get this taken care of. You really don't need to worry." He hoped the fear in his voice wasn't readable and that he sounded like he was still playing along with the game.

"Yes, I am fine. Just bloody peachy," Sherlock replied with a sharp tone of voice. Maybe he had missed his calling, acting. Hah! Imagine how boring that would be. He read the message and then typed in a response.

_John will call if instructed, otherwise I wouldn't expect a call at all. It would probably be for me anyway._

He didn't answer the second question purposefully, it was safer that way. When he was certain Lestrade has read the message, he closed out of the document and opted not to save it when the prompt came up. "If you insist on mucking up my flat, fine whatever. I have better things to do then waste my time with you." He walked away from Lestrade, and left by slamming the door behind him.

Meanwhile, John, was studying the man in his hospital room. He was tall, dressed in a suit, and studied him intently. "This is ridiculous. Really, really ridiculous." He shifted in the bed, hiding the wince of pain as he did so. He studied the man the best he could, like Sherlock always does. He was tall but his shoulders were slouched. Low self-confidence. "That suit...It looks a bit tight on you. Have you put on weight recently?" The man glared and shifted on his feet and John smirked.


	9. Chapter 9

John knew he was risking it but the man had left the room. He picked up the hospital phone and dialed Sherlock's number. "He left the room. Not super violent, at least not yet. I am not too worried right now. Sherlock, what is going on? I don't think this is Moriarty. This is too forward." He gripped the phone tighter and sighed. "When can I see you?"

Sherlock was on the way down the stairs when his cell phone rang. He looked at the number and recognized it as the hospital number he just called a little while ago. He shouldn't answer the phone but he did anyway, because he needed to hear John's voice. He needed to reassure himself that John was okay. He didn't speak until he was outside and away from the flat "Not Moriarty? John he was seen outside our flat…" The thought made him uncomfortable, mainly because he hadn't even considered it a possibility. This was to be very unlikely though.

John closed his eyes for a long moment at the sound of Sherlock's voice. "I might be wrong, I just...I don't know. Maybe he has lower standards this time around. The guy he put in my room isn't very well dressed, he's not very confident." He shrugged even though Sherlock couldn't see it. "I've got this odd feeling that I might not get out of the hospital tomorrow." He laughed softly and glanced out the door to make sure he was still alone.

Sherlock walked along the sidewalk, making his way toward the destination in his mind. "Everything will be fine, you will see." He paused on the side walk and said, "John…there is something you should know…" He trailed off, shivering a bit from the cold because his bloodied coat was back at the hospital. That and his chest was exposed to the elements from where his shirt had nearly been ripped off. "…I love you John Watson." He had never said those words to anyone before, maybe except to his mother when he had been younger. However, this was different. Everything was different now. He shivered again and resumed walking, wondering why he picked now to say such a thing. Worried about not being able to say perhaps?

John wanted to smile at Sherlock's reassurance but he couldn't quite manage it. He was about to speak when Sherlock did so and he was suddenly frozen, his mouth half open and his chest tight. "Sh-Sherlock..." He took a deep breath and suddenly he heard footsteps. "I've got to go. Stay safe. I lo-" the line ended and John instantly regretted calling Sherlock when he was swiftly punched in the face by the thug. He groaned and instantly moved his hands to his left cheek, wishing his nurse hadn't been threatened and was there to help him.

"John…? John!" Once more, Sherlock stressed the name and it came out 'Jawn.' He squeezed the phone in his hand angrily. A few people stopped and stared at him. He probably looked like a raving lunatic, shouting angrily and his eyes wide with a flourish of emotion. He shoved the phone back into his pocket. He shivered yet again, as a biting wind picked up around him. He should probably take a cab but he was almost there now. He picked up his pace and then came to a dead stand still when he saw an all too familiar face duck into an alley up ahead. He practically ran to the alley and turned the corner. " _You_!" The words were filled with a venom he didn't even try to suppress. Moriarty stood before him, a grin on his lips that Sherlock wanted to punch right off his face.

"Sherlock Holmes." Moriarty smirked and glanced around them before tilting his head to the side. "Hi." He studied Sherlock intently with a smirk, his hands resting in his pockets. "Tell me, my dear Sherlock, how is Doctor Watson doing?" He took several steps forward, walking a circle around the taller man with a calculated gaze.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and managed to restrain himself from tackling Moriarty to the ground and beating the demented man to death. No emotions. It would be a sign of weakness. He found his composure. "John is fine. He was a soldier." Everyone else had been saying it, so why not parrot it back? He stayed in place, his hands coming to rest behind his back, one hand cupped in the other. His gaze never left the other man.

"Oh, Sherlock, we both know he isn't doing well. He's just been shot, from what I've heard. And, my my, two surgeries?" Moriarty clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth several times before stopping in front of Sherlock, inspecting his shirt. "It looks like our dear little soldier has enough strength to show you some affection though, doesn't it?" He smirked and mirrored Sherlock's stance, hands clasped behind his back. "Because you love him."

Moriarty  was just trying to get a rise out of him. With restraint Sherlock didn't think he had, he stayed glued to his spot. His fingers clenched in a fist behind him, finger nails digging deep into his skin to the point that it almost drew blood. "It's me you are after, leave John out of it."

Moriarty laughed and it sounded like a bark off of the brick walls surrounding them. "Aren't you a silly one? Everybody is part of this. Your precious little doctor, your good old Detective Inspector and your lovely land lady." He lifted a hand up and ran across the exposed skin of Sherlock's chest. "But John Watson?" He tapped Sherlock's lips. "He means so much to you. We can easily destroy you."

Something akin to feral struck Sherlock as the urge to bite Moriarty's finger off came when his lips were touched. His eyes flashed dangerously for the briefest of moments but once more he regained his composure. He should have just stayed alone, alone had protected him. Now here he was, at the mercy of a mad man all because he had decided to be an idiot like the rest of the ordinary people and feel something. He remained quiet, because he doesn't trust himself to speak. These stupid emotions were getting in the way of his ability to think.

"It only takes one phone call." Moriarty slipped a cell phone from his pocket, tossing it gently in the air before shrugging. "Could do it now. Could wait until he is back at the flat recovering. Could kill him before he gets a chance to tell him how much he loves you." Moriarty took several steps back. "Guess we'll have to keep you in suspense, won't we?"

Screw staying in control, Sherlock had enough. "What do you want from me? Do you want me to submit and say you beat me? That you won?" He moved from where he was standing finally and moved toward Moriarty.

"I don't want anything from you. I want to destroy you, to watch you suffer. I'm bored and you will always be moderately entertaining." Moriarty watched Sherlock approach him, shoving the phone in his pocket and took a deep breath. "What could I possibly want that you provide me with?"

Sherlock paused mid-stride. "What if I killed myself? My life for theirs. I'd even let you be there and watch. We can call the media and make a spectacle out of it. You, the great James Moriarty, break Sherlock Holmes."

"Boring. This isn't about you. Killing you now would take you out of your suffering. Killing those around you and seeing how you handle it? Now that's interesting." Moriarty smiled like it was an exciting game. "I don't need public recognition that I broke you. I just want to watch it happen. Should we start with our brave little soldier?"

Sherlock never expected Moriarty to actually go for that deal, but he needed to sound desperate. "Fine, I fake my death and live in exile. I'm sure breaking more than just me would be far more exciting." He began to move toward Moriarty once more, trying to close the gap between them.

"As lucrative as that offer sounds, I don't think Johnny boy needs anymore nightmares. Have you seen him wake up? Scared, sweating, near tears. He has had enough." Moriarty didn't budge and watched Sherlock curiously. "Breaking boring people is pointless. You are more of a game."

Sherlock was just buying time, as he continued to plead, trying to sound desperate once more. "Please, I'll do anything." He was acting less than he wouldd like to admit, the truth was he _was_ desperate. A lot was at stake, and if didn't play his cards just right people would die. People he cared about. He continued his advance forward, and soon the two were scarcely a breath away from each other.

Moriarty kept his eyes trained on Sherlock's chest, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Oh, Sherlock. Why don't you go back to the hospital and see John? I've let him go for now." He lifted his gaze slowly and patted Sherlock's shoulder. "I'll be seeing you soon." His voice was high-pitched and it sounded like he was singing as he turned on his heel and walked away from Sherlock. "Just be careful. Wouldn't want you getting hurt, would we?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, well, that wasn't what he was expecting. He pulled the gun, that had been tucked in his pants, and finally puts his arms out in front of him. The gun expertly trained the retreating back. "What's stopping you from shooting you the back?" Morals weren't high on his list of things he cared about and neither was playing fair. He had no moral dilemma about shooting this man in the back as he walked away.

Moriarty didn't even bother to turn around, laughing loudly and shaking his head. "Because we're the same person. Killing me will make everything so boring for you." He slowly turned to face Sherlock, his face serious for the first time in their entire conversation. "Honestly, killing me means you'll just have to rely on your silly Detective Inspector for ordinary murder cases, all the while his crew will be judging you and taunting you. With me, Sherlock, you've got a game." He held his arms out wide, his lips twisted in a devious smile. "Shoot me, Sherlock Holmes."

It was Sherlock's turn to laugh but it wasn't a pleasant sound. A man like Moriarty would never be able to understand something like love, something he himself didn't think he was capable of doing or really even understanding. He smirked and said only one word, "okay." He pulled the trigger repeatedly until the clip was empty. All he could think about was John. How he had watched him get shot. How he had watch him suffer in pain at the hospital. How fear had gripped him on more than one occasion that John might die. Maybe he would be bored, but John would be safe. Now he understood why ordinary people relied on love and others because it gave you the strength to do something you never thought possible.

It was a shock, certainly, and the moment Moriarty hit the ground he could do nothing but smirk. He tried to laugh but it was cut off by a gurgle. "T-This isn't the end..." He was still after that, his eyes open and his suit slowly getting ruined.


	10. Chapter 10

John had woken up, blushing slightly as he realized the nurse had fallen asleep in the room with him, her head resting at his side and her hand splayed across his stomach. He let her sleep, she looked exhausted and it was the least he could do after she spent countless hours waiting on him hand and foot. He picked up the hospital phone and mindlessly dialed Sherlock's number. "When're you coming back?" His voice was quiet, a whisper, but it held hope. "He's gone for now and we've got at least a few hours."

Sherlock turned and walked out of the alley calmly, luckily anyone around to see him had hit the deck or was running away screaming to even notice him. He sent a quick text to Mycroft, as he began jogging to look like just another person running in fear. Never before had he asked for his brother's help but he didn't want to go to jail. He asked for his brother to take care of the crime scene before the Yard showed up and to get rid of any incriminating camera footage street cameras may have picked up. His cell phone rang and he didn't hesitate to answer it. "John, I will be at the hospital soon. I have a few things to take care first."

"Sherlock?" John sat up slightly, careful not to wake the nurse as he glanced around the room. "Are you alright? W-Why is Mycroft here?" He glanced between the phone and Sherlock's older brother before getting hit with the realization of the entire situation. It felt like the air had been knocked out of his chest and suddenly his heart monitor was loud and fast. "Sherlock. Run. Please. Oh, God. Sher-" He fell back against the bed, running his free hand through his hair as Mycroft entered the room and woke the nurse, quickly taking the seat beside John's chair as she left. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything. I'm not sure what you are talking about, must be the drugs talking." Sherlock had to lie, so John would have deniability. Once he was far away enough from the scene of the crime, he stopped running and began walking at a normal pace. He needed to dispose of the murder weapon soon. A few black Sedans rolled by and one stopped by the curb. "John, could you ask Mycroft if he sent a car for me? I try not to make a habit in getting into strange car."

John wanted to believe him, he really did, and for a moment he was able to believe his best friend. "Y-Yeah. Drugs." He shook his head and lowered the phone. Mycroft was quick to reply, doing the typical Holmes deduction before John even had to ask. "Sherlock, he says he only sent one..." He paused and took a deep breath. "Why? Are you alright?" He had never felt this scared for Sherlock and he knew why: the man had told him that he loved John, something Sherlock was never used to.

Sherlock opened the car door and got in. "Everything is fine. I just have a few things I need to take care and then I will come visit you at the hospital." He eyed the person in the back seat with him. It was that girl. What was her name? She had been with Mycroft before, so he had no reason to distrust her. She was on her phone, texting it looked like. He focused back on the conversation with John, "How are you feeling? Are you okay?" He had been so focused and worried about John, he missed an important clue. Something he would have otherwise caught if he hadn't been so distracted.

"I'm good. I mean...I've been better, obviously." He laughed softly, wincing as he grabbed his side. "That thug...he punched me in the face. I have a nice bruise from that." Mycroft laughed at that and John shot him a quick look. "I'm going to be on a bit of bed rest for a while, I think." He cleared his throat and glanced at Mycroft, a blush coloring his cheeks, before he spoke again. "W-would you mind if I slept in your bed?" The words were rushed and low and he was fairly sure Mycroft was trying to understand what he said. "It worked...y'know, when we were in the hospital a-and..." He sighed and took a deep breath. "Yeah."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes when John told him he got punched. "Of course you are going to be on bed rest awhile. You can sleep in my bed under one condition, I get to snuggle in next to you at night. I have decided to reprioritize, the case can wait. I'm going to stay at home and take care of you." He paused a moment and then went on, "John I was serious earlier. That I love you. I'm not sure why it took me so long to admit it to myself or you…" He trailed off, not caring that the woman in the car was staring at him now. Since he had her attention now though, he offered the gun to her, knowing it would be disposed of. One less thing to worry about. He wondered if Lestrade would pursue him once he found out Moriarty was dead, only time would tell.

John laughed softly, grinning widely like some school child. "I think we can meet those conditions." He paused and dropped his head to take a deep breath. "I am just...I don't want to sound like your father but I am proud of you. If you do need to jump up and work on the case, you can." John lifted his gaze to study Mycroft, who was on his phone but clearly paying attention to the conversation. "I know you were serious, Sherlock. I..." another pause, "I want to wait and tell you in person. So hurry up." His grip on the phone tightened in anticipation. "What do you have to do?"

The case could be put on hold indefinitely, no point in pursing anything now that Moriarty was dead. Usually, Sherlock didn't care what anyone thought about him. This was different and he smiled, even though John couldn't see it. It shifted to a small frown of thought though; he had heard people say they loved someone else on the phone all the time…had he messed up somewhere? "I hope you don't mind I told you over the phone…? I just…I needed to make sure you knew…" He trailed off, not used to emotion gripping him so tightly and then cleared his throat. "Just a few loose ends John. It shouldn't take long."

"Oh, no! No. I didn't mind at all. I understand." John was shifting in the bed and let out a small grunt of discomfort. "It is stupid. I...Well. Right. I just want to see your face when I say it. Stupid little thing, y'know?" He frowned a bit before Mycroft shot up from the chair and abruptly left the room. "Your brother just left. Can you tell me what's going on? Please?"

"He is a busy man with the Government. I am sure he got called away. Nothing is going on, that I know of. I'm sure everything is fine. Look, John, I have to go." Sherlock didn't like lying or hanging up on John like that but he had never felt bad about lying in his life, until now. He didn't want to risk coming clean to make his stupid conscious feel better so he had terminated the call.

John looked at the phone with a bit of a frown and fell back on to the bed, glancing out the window to study Mycroft. The man was tense and was holding his phone so hard his knuckles were turning white.

Mycroft dialed Sherlock's number and didn't bother to wait for him to say anything. "Care to tell me why Lestrade showed up to a reported crime scene and there was no body? Or blood, for that matter?" He glanced in the room and sighed. "Sherlock, we have a problem."

Sherlock wasn't surprised when his brother called but was surprised by the words. "What do you mean no body or blood?" No, this wasn't happening. He had seen Moriarty die. He had emptied an entire clip into the man's center mass. Grant it, he didn't check to make sure the other man had been dead… Stupid, so _stupid_ , how could he have been so stupid? _No!_ He wanted to yell his rage but settled for his silent raging. John's words came back, 'only one car.' That meant the other Sedans had been Moriarty's clean up crew. How could he have missed something so _simple_? Stupid emotions were messing thing up. He wasn't sure if he hated them yet or not.

"You heard me. Nothing. Completely normal when they showed up. He is gone. There is no body." Mycroft paused and shook his head. "You're distracted. You are letting John get to you and the results aren't positive. Do you see what is happening?" He glanced back into the room where John had fallen asleep. "You can't get involved with him. You need to stay focused."

The words shocked Sherlock, mainly due to the harsh truth to them. "I…you are right of course…" He trailed off, a part of him hating himself for being reduced to such a state. This had all been a mistake. It turned out he was just as stupid as the rest of the ordinary people.

"You don't need to tell me I am correct, I already know this and that is why I am telling you. John cannot be a distraction, Sherlock." Mycroft took a deep breath and closed his eyes, sighing. "Why him, Sherlock? He is so ordinary, such an obvious distraction. He's dangerous."

"Does it matter? I just do, okay? And John _isn't_ ordinary," Sherlock replied, clearly expressing the anger he was feeling. His tone suddenly softened, almost begging, "You'll watch over him for me, won't you? I won't be able to go back to the flat or see him again…until this all over. I need to focus, like you said." Walking away was for the best, right? Then why did he feel like shit about it?

Mycroft sighed and nodded, closing his eyes for a long moment. "Yes, I will do the best I can. What do I tell him? That you have decided to leave him? He-" he cut himself off and ran a hand down his face. "Sherlock, you've created quite the mess. This is what emotions do." He couldn't hide the anger in his voice. "As much as I dislike the entire situation...never mind. What are you doing? Tell me now, I will find out eventually."

"I will leave a note for him at the flat.I have a few things I need to take care of there before I leave anyway. As for what I am doing right now, I'm in a car with your assistant. I have a safe house pick up to make, then I am going to the flat and then after Moriarty and make sure it ends, _for sure_ , this time. My exact steps toward that goal aren't hammered out yet, but I have a few ideas." Sherlock glanced to the woman in the car with him and spoke to her for the first time, giving her the name of the address he wished to be dropped off at it.

"I don't need your lip right now!" Mycroft shouted, drawing stares from the nurses near the room. "Just...do what you need. Contact me if anything goes wrong. And...tell Lestrade. We will keep John in the dark the best we can. What am I telling him? He is going to wake up expecting you. And despite my better judgment I want to keep whatever you two have intact the best I can." John's nurse slipped past him into the room, sitting in the chair and resting a hand on his chest. "Because if you don't hurry you might lose him."

Why did everyone keep on insisting that he work with Lestrade? Couldn't they just leave him alone and let him do what he wanted? He sighed and then suddenly became alarmed. "Lose him? What do you mean? Did those bloody doctors miss something _again?"_

Mycroft winced and watched the nurse in John's room with regret. "John is...He's a bit of a womanizer, Sherlock. Sure, he has feelings for you, but how long do you think he will wait?" And, as if on cue, Mycroft watched John wake up and gaze intently at the nurse, resting his hand over the nurse's and sigh. "You are not the only person who rather enjoys soldiers."

"Oh…" Sherlock trailed off and then cleared his throat. "Yes well, maybe it is for the best then." He hung up on Mycroft, because this conversation was killing him on the inside and he had no desire to continue it. The car finally came to the address he had asked for and he exited the car. He waited for it to drive off and then began walking the mile and half the rest of the way to his destination. He had a safe drop box site, which he had kept in case of emergencies. It would have everything he would need.

Mycroft nearly swore, turning back into the room and taking up the unused chair in the corner, letting the nurse keep her spot next to John. How in the world was he going to tell John what had happened? Aside from that, it was breaking his heart that John was getting a bit cozy with his nurse despite wanting to tell Sherlock that he returned the consulting detective's feelings.

Lestrade, who had been tipped off by Mycroft about Sherlock's whereabouts, pulled up next to Sherlock in an unmarked car, slowing down and rolling down his window. "Get in the car. I am here to watch you. Off duty, might I add."

Sherlock didn't have any place to hide the contents of his box so he just stuffed the box under his arm and began walking, shivering once more as the cold cut deep. He eyed the car that pulled up next him, tensing slightly, but relaxed when he saw Lestrade. "No, I want to be alone. Tell Mycroft to piss off. Don't you have better things to do than be at my brother's beckon call? I swear, if I didn't know any better you two were having affair." He continued on, at a brisk gait, all too aware that the words he spoke were actually true. And Mycroft had the nerve to tell him not to get involved with John because he was 'ordinary.'

Lestrade rolled his eyes and continued to drive beside Sherlock. "Stop your deducing and get in the bloody car, will you? Mycroft's got me covered for about a week. We really can't just have you wandering off on your own." He leaned across the center console and opened the door, slowing the car down a bit to do so. "Now, Sherlock. Just do it. It really won't hurt to have somebody. Even if I'm not John."

"No! Can't I be by himself for two minutes without someone checking up on  me? I'm not a bloody child. I can take care of myself." Sherlock narrowed his eyes and he stopped walking to glare at the Detective Inspector. "No, you aren't John. You aren't even half of a John. I don't need you, Mycroft or even John. He is better off with some stupid, leering nurse anyway…" He trailed off with an incoherent string of grumbling curses.

"Yes, he can, and once you get in the car I will take you where we need to go and leave you alone. Promise. But please get in the car. We need to talk." He paused and decided quickly to not delve into the John Watson issue that was clearly surfacing. "It's about Moriarty. It's serious. Now, Sherlock. And then you can walk off like the mad man you are." He sped forward and cut Sherlock off with the car, looking at the other man expectantly.

" _Fine!_ " Sherlock got in the car and slammed the car door shut, hard. "What is so bloody important? Last time you insisted there was something important regarding Moriarty, you were _wrong_. So, why  Detective Inspector should I even bother listening to what you say?"

Lestrade turned the car and started driving, gripping the wheel hard and biting his bottom lip. "The nurse. John's nurse. The one who is constantly flirting with..." He looked at Sherlock like he should have figured it all out the moment the young woman walked into the hospital room. "She's working with Moriarty. You leaving? Part of the plan. Now he's heartbroken, looking for a rebound. What a better place to look than the adorable nurse who clearly can't keep her hands off you?" He slowed down and took a sharp right turn.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he glared out the window for several minutes. He wanted to demand Lestrade take him to the hospital but the last time he let his emotions cloud his judgment, everything went wrong. "How certain of you are of this intel because damn it man, you need to be _sure_ about this."

"We are completely positive. We did an extensive background search when we found a hit. Distant cousins or something." Lestrade slowed down outside a small house, pulling into the driveway with a practiced hand. "I wouldn't bring it up to you if I weren't a hundred percent positive. He's in trouble." He turned the car off and shrugged. "Welcome home, I guess."

"Well, Mycroft will just have to deal with it. It isn't safe for me to go see John right now." Sherlock eyed the house. "I still need to go to my flat and take care of a few things before I am forced into hiding like some pathetic mongrel." He didn't like anything about his current situation, but everything had been his fault. Right from the start. There was no point dwelling on the 'what if's' though, he had to press on and right the wrongs.


	11. Chapter 11

Lestrade shook his head. "Got everything you will need before I left. Mycroft sent me a list." He got out of the car and slammed the door harder than needed as he walked up to the house. "You are so thick, y'know that?" He shouldered the front door open, tossing his keys on a coffee table and shedding his jacket. "Just because John 'clouded' your judgment you're gonna leave him. Where in your head does that make any sense at all?"

Sherlock let out a nasty snarl when Lestrade got out of the car. He still had things to take care of. Damn Mycroft. He exited the car himself, slamming the car door shut as well. Instead of following the Detective Inspector inside, he began walking away from the house.

Lestrade stopped walking into the house when he realized that Sherlock wasn't following him. He darted out the door. "Sherlock! Get back here! Everything you need to take care of can be done here. I swear. We've got everything covered. Mycroft doesn't want you to wander too far... John..." He stopped walking and ran a hand through his hair. "Stay with me, Sherlock. Please. This is more serious than you even know."

Sherlock spun around to face Lestrade, his features contorted into a face that could only be described as unpleasant and clearly angry. "Piss off, there are some things I need to do first. What happened to if I get in the car you would leave me alone? I got in the bloody car, now I am going on without you. Deal with it."

"Okay, so I should have been more clear." Lestrade took a deep breath and motioned back toward the house. "I'm staying with you but I am leaving you alone. What do you need to do, Sherlock? We can take care of it. We can call John." He sighed and closed his eyes for a long moment. "Please, I'm just doing this for your brother."

"What I am taking care of, I need to do alone. I am not calling John. It isn't safe." Sherlock gave his tirade a respite as he raised his eyebrows, his face and features almost softening. "I know you are. Look, I just need a few hours to myself. All right? If it makes Mycroft feel better, he can track the GPS in my phone or you can. I really don't care. I have things I need to do first and then if you want to still follow me around like a lost puppy then fine."

"I-Whe-Sherlock..." Lestrade sighed and swallowed, taking a deep breath. "I am not following you around like a lost puppy. I'm doing my job. Just..." He was pleading now, gesturing with his hands wildly. "Tell me what you are doing. J-John's worried. What do I tell him? And Mycroft?"

Sherlock sighed. "Answer me this, Inspector, do you trust me?"

Lestrade hesitated. It was a tougher question than he thought it would be. It wasn't long ago that he was making sure Sherlock came to crime scenes without drugs in his system. He met the gaze of the slightly taller man and nodded. "Yes." He took a deep breath. "Yes, of course I do."

"Then please, just let me do what I need to do and stop asking me all these questions." Sherlock's gaze held Lestrade's steadily. "Greg, please, it's important." He sighed again and broke the eye contact. "Two things I need to know before I go, now that I think about it though. Did you actually do a sweep of my flat and is John still in the hospital?" Now was not the time to make assumptions and screw things up. He had a plan of course. It was more or less the same just slightly more improvised since he had been in his flat with Lestrade last time. The plan had been set sideways when Moriarty had showed up, but Sherlock was determined to set things straight once more.

Lestrade sighed and bit his bottom lip. "Yes, we did an actual sweep. Found a bug in John's room. That was the only other one in the flat, other than the one you found." He took a deep breath. Sherlock was really the most complicated person to deal with. "He is right now. He'll be gone by tomorrow morning." He nodded surely. ""D'you need to use the car?"

"Yes, that would be most helpful." Sherlock once again shivered as the wind picked up. "Might I borrow your coat too? Mine is still at the hospital." It wouldn't do to get sick with the likes of the common cold; he had more important things to worry about right now.

Lestrade glanced back at the house and nodded. "Yeah, it's back in the house. Why don't you take a quick shower while you're here? And eat a bit? It'll be helpful for whatever you need to do, get you focused." He took a few steps forward and managed a half-smile. "Just take this bit of advice, will you?"

"I will be fine for now. If you still insist upon all these trivial things when I get back, then I'll do them just so you will shut up. I need to be able to think clearly in the days to come and I won't be able to do that with you harping in my ear." Sherlock followed behind the Detective Inspector.

"When are you coming back?" Lestrade didn't bother to face Sherlock as he asked, merely shouting over his shoulder. "Should I expect to see you in between these next few days?" He entered the house and grabbed his jacket, tossing it roughly at the other man. "Or are you just going to run off because you think that you are better than everybody else and you don't need help when you, really, probably do?" He was shouting now, rather close to Sherlock as he met his gaze.

"Are you quite done there Inspector? It is very unbecoming and unprofessional of you to carry on as such. I only need a few hours and if you had listened to me the first time you would know that." Sherlock caught the coat with one hand. He matched Lestrade's gaze but not tone, keeping his rather mild. The small distance between them didn't faze him; it wasn't easy to intimidate Sherlock. "Car keys, please."

Lestrade narrowed his eyes, not breaking their gaze as he roughly grabbed the keys from his front pocket and shoved them against Sherlock's chest. "I don't need you to tell me what is unprofessional. I call you into bloody crime scenes. I clearly no longer know the meaning of professional." He fell on to the couch behind him, slouching and spreading his legs in a bit of a relaxed form. "See you in a few hours, then." His voice was low and he didn't bother to look at the other man, instead pulling out his cell phone and starting a text.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at the Detective Inspector when the car keys are shoved at him, but didn't reply. He merely took the keys, put the coat on and walked outside. The coat was a little small on him but at least it would keep the cold out. He got in the car, put the box on the passenger's seat and drove off. He drove to a seedy hotel. He actually used to frequent it back in his illegal drug use days. He had gotten clean right around the time he and John became flatmates. Before exiting the car he withdrew some money from the box.

When he walked up to the front desk the clerk was surprised to see him. "My usual room," he said before the clerk could try and make small talk. He took the room key, paid and then walked off without another word spoken. He unlocked the door and entered the once familiar room. Saying it was a shit hole, would have been a compliment. It was amazing the place managed to pass any kind of health code.

The appearance of the room didn't bother him and it never had. It had been used for the privacy it offered. It was a room without windows and considering the shady dealings that happened at the hotel he didn't have to worry about cameras recording anything going on. He sat down in the slightly broken and dirty chair the room offered. He actually had to lean to one side, so it wouldn't topple from his weight.

Sherlock placed the box on the grimy and sticky table. He opened the lid and took out the contents. It contained: multiple burner phones, a large sum of money, fake ID's, fake passports, cigarettes, a book of matches, two pistols fully loaded and four extra clips, along with a gun cleaning kit.

Almost immediately he took out a cigarette, lit the match and inhaled the smoke deeply before exhaling slowly. While smoking, he took his guns apart and cleaned them. It wouldn't do to have one of the guns malfunction due to poor gun maintenance. Once he finished cleaning the guns, he picked out two phones. He looked up the number of one phone and then input the number into the other phone. He kept out the phones, one gun, some money, the cigarettes and the matches. The rest went back into the box.

Sherlock got up from the chair, which fell over once his weight was removed. He ignored the fallen chair and walked over to the night stand. He opened the single drawer. It didn't offer a pad of paper but it did contain the King James Version of the Bible. He opened it and tore out the first page, since it was blank on one side. Pen…? He patted the coat he still wore, and found one in the inside pocket. He removed the pen and scrawled a message on the blank side. He put the Bible back in the drawer and closed it.

After a few long strides, he was back at the table. The phone that had the single number programmed into it was wrapped up in the note and then shoved it into his pockets. He tucked the gun into his trousers, the coat flowing over so it didn't reveal the small bulge. He put the cigarettes, matches, money and other phone into the unoccupied pocket.

Sherlock picked up the box, and left the hotel room. He threw the key on the counter top as he walked out. He had come here, hoping and expecting people to make the wrong assumption. That he had gone to get high. That he was unbalanced and unstable. It was better that way. If those closest to him thought the worst of him, then it was likely Moriarty would as well. The only edge he had right now was being sharp while everyone else thought he was falling apart.

Once back in the car, he drove back to his flat for one last thing. He needed to pay a visit to Mrs. Hudson for this next play. He had always trusted her and it had only be reinforced when she had refused to give up a phone after being beaten. There was no doubt in his mind he could count on her to follow through for him. The only person he trusted more than Mrs. Hudson was John. He walked into the flat and went to find his landlady. "Mrs. Hudson?"


	12. Chapter 12

Mrs. Hudson had heard about everything that happened from Lestrade and had proceeded to pace the flat nervously until she had managed to get John's hospital phone number from the helpful Detective Inspector. She had talked with him and calmed him down, reassuring John that Sherlock would be fine. She had even lied and said he had stopped by to clean up and make sure everything was ready for him to come home.

The moment she heard Sherlock's voice she moved toward him, sighing and quickly wrapping her arms around him. "Oh, Sherlock, goodness!" She pulled away and put a hand on his cheek, shaking her head. "You've had me worried. John called. I was jus-" she took a deep breath. "Are you feeling alright? Y-You didn't-" She bit her bottom lip and motioned toward the upstairs. "Why don't I make you a cup of tea? We can sit...talk...you can tell me what's been going on?"

Sherlock returned the hug, and for the first time since he left the hospital he allowed a genuine, but small smile touch his lips. He probably still smelled of the cigarette he had smoked earlier, no point in lying, even if the question hadn't been fully formed. "Had to do something to help take the edge off. Tea would be most excellent, thank you." He could be polite when the mood struck him, it just usually didn't. He followed her to the kitchen, with his arms clasped behind his back.

She smiled softly and turned to start making tea. "Other than that cigarette you are clean?" Mrs. Hudson asked it quietly, turning to Sherlock once the water was starting to heat up. Her eyes studied his body in a motherly manner before she sighed. "You look horrible, dear. What happened?" She pulled her own chair out, sitting down gingerly and clasping her hands on the table. "How's John?"

What a perfect way to help spread the rumor he was back on drugs. Sherlock shifted his weight and looked away from Mrs. Hudson and avoided answering the question altogether. After a long pause he looked back at her, and strode forward to the table and took a seat. "I'm fine. John is fine too. Things are just a little chaotic right now. I won't be at the flat for awhile. So, I will be paying the rent up front for the next six months." He put both hands in his pockets. When he brought them out, one hand had cash and the other held the cell phone with a note wrapped around it. He placed the cash on the table, then used his free hand to put a finger to his lips when he pushed the phone forward. Hopefully she would understand not to react to the phone or note.

_Things have gotten very dangerous. It isn't safe to contact John though normal means. This is an untraceable phone. Tell him to only text the number programmed into the phone when he is sure he is alone and that I will reply when I can. He isn't to use the phone for anything else. No one else is to know about this except you and John. Not Lestrade or even my brother. If a nurse comes to visit John from the hospital, she cannot be trusted so be careful what you say and do around her. Observe if you can but don't take any unnecessary risks. Please don't let John know about the nurse, I will later. When you have finished reading this, please put it down on the table quietly. I will then pull out matches and burn it. Feel free to yell at me as if I am lighting up a cigarette._

Was he being a paranoid? Maybe. But better to be safe than sorry.

Mrs. Hudson read the note and calmly set it on the table, slipping the cell phone into her pocket and standing up. "Sherlock, please, I wish you wouldn't smoke indoors, it isn't good for my health." She poured them each a cup of tea, setting it in front of him and sighing. "Or your health, for that matter." After a quick sip of her tea she let her gaze fall on the handful of money on the table, swallowing and smoothly picking up half. She nodded toward it and looked at him with a smile before turning her back. "I'll keep the flat clean for you then. Don't want it to be too out of shape when you get back."

She returned to her seat across from him and nodded, a bit of a frown on her face. She would miss him. Having him around upstairs was quite the adventure and she saw him as more of a family member than anything. John, too. But apparently Sherlock's flatmate would be bringing back somebody else, a female that was not approved by Sherlock. "Drink your tea, Sherlock. You look a bit under the weather."

Sherlock smiled, brilliant Mrs. Hudson. He knew he could count on her. He struck the match and lit the piece of paper on fire. "Fine. I'll wait until I'm outside then," he muttered in that sulking voice he often used when he was bored from the lack of a case. He shook out the match, purposely over the ashes so they would scatter. "Take the other half, please. I won't be able to take care of John. Someone will need to. If you won't take it for the rent, then consider a payment for looking after him?"

There were so many questions Mrs. Hudson wanted to ask as she grabbed the money and nodded. She figured she would learn about everything once it was over. "Yes. Alright." She finished her cup of tea when the doorbell rang and she glanced at Sherlock. "That will be John. He rang earlier and said that they're letting him out a bit earlier since his nurse offered to stay with him overnight." There was a pause and she reached across the table to gently grab his hand. "I'll take care of him. Promise. You can hide in here while I help him upstairs, you can leave once he's situated and can't move."

Sherlock was in the middle of taking a drink of tea and he almost spit everywhere at what he had just been told. His eyes narrowed at the thought of that woman staying with John overnight. He forced himself to regain control but his body remained tense. He stayed in the kitchen, unmoving and barely breathing. He listened intently though, to see if he could pick up any bits of conversation.

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson." John was out of breath and having trouble walking but she hugged him anyway, causing a small groan to slip past his lips. "And this is Samantha, she's the nurse from the hospital that will help you with everything." A dainty laugh echoed through the house as the young nurse shook Mrs. Hudson's hand. "Anything from Sherlock yet?" And suddenly the laughing stopped, but John didn't seem to notice.

"Nothing at all. I'm sure he is fine, John. Why don't I help Samantha here carry your stuff upstairs? Sherlock made his bed for you." A lie, she had done it, "He said something about it being closer to everything you would need. And there's extra blankets and pillows for the couch, Samantha?" There was a long pause and John cleared his throat, slowly starting up the creaky stairs.

"That's alright, Mrs. Hudson, I think it would be best if I stayed with John tonight. I have to make sure that his first night at home goes smoothly." Nobody argued as the footsteps got quieter and shuffling could be heard upstairs.

Sherlock fought for control once more. Never before had he wanted to strangle the life out of someone so bad. His fingers curled tightly around the cup he was still holding, knuckles turning white and fingers digging so deep into his skin that his palms begin to faintly bleed.

"Alright! All settled!" Mrs. Hudson emerged in the kitchen again, jumping slightly as she spotted Sherlock. "Oh, thought you would be gone by now." She walked over to him and slowly removed the cup from his grasp. "Guess you should be going," she muttered. She wanted to pull him into a hug and remind him that everything would be alright. Even if she could, she wouldn't even know if she were telling the truth or not. Her hand gently squeezed Sherlock's and she placed a kiss on top of his head reassuringly. She hesitated when John's laughter echoed quickly through the flat and ended abruptly, followed by some very obvious stuttering.

Sherlock drew Mrs. Hudson into a hug, not because he really desired one but so he could whisper in her ear. "Two requests before I go. The flat might have bugs so if you see anything amiss or don't recognized something, tell the Detective Inspector or my brother about it." It was his implicit way of informing not to verbalize anything about the phone and hopefully she would make a note for John to read as he had done for her. It was a lot of subtext and though Mrs. Hudson was ordinary she was rather clever for her age. "Also, when the nurse isn't around see what drugs John are on. She may be drugging him. Please text me a list of the medications when it is safe to do so." He let go, and with an assertion of self control he didn't realize he had he left quickly but quietly.

Mrs. Hudson nodded and returned the hug, not so she could hear him better but because she needed to. "See you soon, Sherlock." She stood on her toes and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. She managed a smile before turning back to the kitchen. "I've got tea to make," she whispered to herself as he left.

Sherlock drove back to where Lestrade had been. When he exited the car, he lit up a cigarette and walked into the house, making sure to slam the front door behind him.

Lestrade was at the kitchen table eating, merely glancing up in Sherlock's direction and shaking his head. "Don't smoke in my house," he muttered as he took another bite of rice before leaning back in his chair. "And don't slam my bloody door!" After a pause he shrugged. "So?"

Sherlock walked into the kitchen, glared, and flicked his unfinished cigarette towards Lestrade. It didn't get very far, and it rolled to a stop by the leg of the table furthest from the Inspector. "Wait? This is your house? Our safe house is your home? No wonder your wife and you don't get on."

"It's just my house, if you really need to know. She...she doesn't know about it. Probably because we haven't talked in a few months." Lestrade stood up and moved toward the fridge, grabbing a beer and opening it. "Nobody knows about it, really." He took several large gulps from the beer bottle and motioned toward the left over rice at the center of the table. "Made extra. Eat, you look like you need it."

Sherlock shrugged, moved to the table and crushed out the cigarette under his foot before he took a seat in the chair. "John is at the flat. That lovely nurse volunteered to stay and take care of him. Mind telling me why Mycroft let John go home with her? I wouldd _really_ like to hear the reasoning behind this." He ignored the food, placed his elbows on table, and steepled his fingers together as he looked intently at Lestrade between them.

Lestrade chuckled slightly and took another sip of his beer. "Simple, really. To watch her. See what she's up to. Thought you would have figured that out." He leaned back in the chair and smirked. "It's a tie to Moriarty that we have and you don't. We're lucky John is such a womanizer."

Sherlock snorted. "I don't like it. She could be drugging him with God knows what. He needs to get better, not…not…seduced by some woman." He played the emotional card. While it was true, he didn't like it, he understood it. Still, he needed to have the appearance he was slipping even if it meant looking like an idiot. The thought was appalling but he couldn't let his ego get in the way of John's welfare.

"We're aware that could be happening and we have already talked to your land lady, like you." He nodded and finished his beer. Sherlock seemed uncomfortable with the conversation, with talking about John and somebody who wasn't him. "I think you should not think about it if you need to focus on other things." He stood up and grabbed another beer. "I don't think John can help it, really. That nurse would probably be attracted to him even if she wasn't working for Moriarty."

"Not think about? That woman is in my flat with my..." Sherlock trailed off, with a sputter. "I need another cigarette...or maybe something stronger." He pushed the chair away from the table with purposeful force. "I' will be outside." He got up from the chair.

Lestrade hesitated and stood up. "Nope. Stay in here." He reached into his front pocket and tossed him a pack of cigarettes. "Smoke in here. I can't risk you doing something worse." He set his beer down and moves in front of Sherlock. "Sit down. Now. If you need to vent about the fact that John isn't with you then do it. Doing something stupid isn't the answer."

Sherlock would have smirked, if he hadn't been facing the Detective Inspector. Instead, he narrowed his eyes as he caught the pack. "I already have a pack, but thanks I will keep this one too. I'm fine. I'm good." He used one of the cigarettes from the pack Lestrade had thrown him. He took out the book of matches from his pocket, struck it and lit up. He inhaled deeply. "See? Much better already."

"Yeah, fine." Lestrade moved to the couch and fell on to it with a heavy sigh, flipping the television on and going through the channels slowly. "You may think it's easy to lie to me but it isn't. You think I'm stupid, that I can't do my job. I'm not. Stop putting on some little show and tell me what's going on." Lestrade didn't bother to face Sherlock as he spoke and settled on some old sitcom as background noise. "Are you upset that John is with another woman? That Moriarty is clearly after him and not you? What is it?"

Sherlock smoked thoughtfully for a moment, still standing in the kitchen. There was two ways he could handle this, seriously or immaturely. He opted for the latter. "I'm fine, all right? Can't everyone just leave me alone instead of trying to coddle me and hold my hand through this? I'm tired of everyone telling me what to do or not to do. I'm a grown man and I don't you, my brother or even John telling me how to run my life." He ended, his voice slightly raised now. He was getting ready to throw one of his childish fits.

"You obviously do, Sherlock!" Lestrade was standing now, approaching Sherlock swiftly. "You act like such a child. Constantly. You never stop. D'you know why everybody thinks they need to help you? Because nobody knows when you will actually snap. I'm here to help you. Accept it. I'm here because your brother asked me to watch over you. He's worried!" He was nearly chest-to-chest with Sherlock now, taking deep breaths as he looked up at the slightly taller man. "Tell me what is going on. _Now_."

This was going smoother and easier than he thought it would. Sherlock shoved Lestrade away from him, by putting his hands on the Inspector's chest. It wasn't a light shove either.

Lestrade stood for a moment, dumbstruck. He just got shoved, roughly, and suddenly had a strong urge to rush forward. He took a deep breath and lowered his shoulder, shoving it into Sherlock's stomach and pinning him against the nearest wall. "Stop acting like a child!"

Sherlock grunted slightly from the force of the shoulder to his stomach and stumbled back into a wall. He dropped his own shoulder to gain leverage and shoved back. He used the wall for extra momentum, shoving off it with his right foot. The end result would most likely be both of them on the floor unless the Detective Inspector overpowered him.

Lestrade let out a small yell as he hit the ground, grunting when Sherlock landed on top of him. "Get off you bloody idiot!" He placed his hands on Sherlock's shoulder and shoved him roughly, continuing to lay on the floor as he took several deep breaths. "There you go then..." He turned his gaze to the other man, slowly sitting up. "A perfect example of you acting like a child."

Sherlock had an arm pulled back ready to punch Lestrade, when the Detective Inspector shoved him. He stumbled backward, his tall awkward form and gravity worked against him and he landed flat on his back. He was winded momentarily and he just laid there, staring at the ceiling.

Lestrade slowly sat up, running a hand through his hair and sighing. "I'm sorry," he whispered and slowly got to his feet, holding a hand out for Sherlock to take, studying the other man's face intently. "We're all just worried about you. Mycroft, especially." His voice was low and he suddenly can't meet Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock shrugged and shoved the offered hand away. He sat up on his own, staying in a sitting position on the floor. Somewhere in the midst of the fight he had lost the cigarette. Sherlock reached over and picked it up. He continued to sit on the floor, smoking the remainder of the stub.


	13. Chapter 13

John had finally gotten a moment alone with Mrs. Hudson while Samantha was busy upstairs situating herself for the night. No words were exchanged, a cell phone slipped into his hands. He knew right away. They made quick eye contact and she headed upstairs instantly to keep Samantha occupied while he looked at the phone and finally sent a text to the only number saved.

_Where are you? Are you okay? I miss you. –JW_

Sherlock felt the phone in his trouser pocket vibrate and it took self control to not answer it right away. It was John. Finally. It had felt like forever. He glanced over to Lestrade, "Do you have spare room or just somewhere I can be alone for awhile?" He asked, as he finally pushed himself up off the floor.

Lestrade glanced at Sherlock and nodded. "Yeah, down the hall, last door on the right. It's your room, made it up and everything." He walked away with his head low, falling back against the couch and quickly laying down. "You're more than welcome to stay there the rest of the night, actually."

Sherlock nodded and without another word walked down the hall and into the room. He closed the door quietly behind him, and then locked it. He blindly found a switch and turned on the lights. With a sigh he sat down on the bed and pulled out the phone.

_I am at Lestrade's. I'm sorry but it isn't safe for me to be at home right now. I know I had promised to take care of you, but things are really dangerous right now and I am unsure when I will be able to return. I need you to trust me on this. Please be careful of the nurse, she is working with Moriarty. She might even be drugging you. Don't let on you know. I need an inside man. Delete this and any future messages we may exchange. Including the ones you have sent me. I miss you and I meant what I said earlier on the phone. Please, just be patient. I will fix this as soon as I can. –SH_

John had moved to sit at the kitchen table, too tired to stand for long periods of time, as he read the text. He gripped the phone tightly, looking over his shoulder before responding.

_I know you meant it. I'll be careful. I will try  to take my own medication from now on. She's nice, though...don't see how she could be working for Moriarty. I'll believe you, though, you're always right. Don't kill Lestrade. We need him. I love you, Sherlock. -JW_

He paused and hit send, closing his eyes for a long moment. It wasn't how he wanted to tell Sherlock the first time but he figured that he needed something to brighten his day.

_You really trust the Detective Inspector, don't you? We've already been in a few rows. Worse than when you go to the market with the machines. The nurse is a distant cousin or some such thing. A bit obvious, but that's the point. Moriarty wanted to make sure I knew. And I know you do, John. I love you too. -SH_

Sherlock thought about erasing the last part but before he could let himself over think it, he hit send.

John laughed a bit, biting his bottom lip to stifle it. It sounded like Sherlock was in a decent mood.

_Of course I do. He's the best around. Don't beat him up too bad, Sherlock...you didn't start a fight with him, did you? She's...right. She has no other reason to be this nice, I guess. Makes sense. When can I see you? Last time I checked I owe you some snuggling. -JW_

He smirked softly and hit send, setting the phone on the table and running a finger across his lips. He stared at the phone like it was a life-line because, really, it was. It was his only connection to his best friend.

Sherlock's mood had improved vastly, just from being able to text John.

_I guess maybe I should too then. I'm not sure when I will see you again. I'm sorry. It just /isn't/ safe. Also, John...I'm sorry for the way I left the hospital. I was upset. -SH_

It had taken him a moment to type the last two sentences, but when he did he hit send once more so he couldn't erase it. Admitting any kind of feelings at all was difficult but he was trying. For John he would try. For John, he would do anything.

John read the text three times before hitting 'reply' and rapidly hitting the buttons.

_Sherlock, don't apologise. I said something that I shouldn't have. It was...we both acted horribly. We can't set up a secret meeting? Anything? -JW_

He hit send and held the phone tightly to his chest, lowering his head and taking several deep breaths. This wasn't how everything was supposed to happen. He should be upstairs right now curled against Sherlock sleeping. He shouldn't be afraid to go upstairs because the nurse who flirted with him non-stop was probably going to drug him.

_I just don't know. Maybe later on down the road. Not right now though. Not with the nurse staying over "to help you get better." -SH_

Sherlock hit send a little forcibly. Just thinking of that nurse there irked him. Was this what it felt like to be jealous? Or was he just pissed off at the whole situation? Perhaps it was a little bit of both.

John swallowed hard as he read the text, taking a shaky breath.

_I'm sorry. At the time...I think I was drugged when I agreed. It seemed like a good idea at the time. -JW_

He hit send and paused, looking at the phone before typing again.

_She kissed me. It wasn't like you. I hated it. -JW_

John hit send again and set the phone on the table, folding his hands in his lap.

Sherlock was about to reply to the first text when the second one came through. He nearly dropped the phone when he read it. He wasn't sure how to answer that. It stirred in him emotions similar to when John had told him about being with other men in the military, but much stronger this time. He wanted to swear and throw a tantrum, fling the phone at the wall, something, anything to release the rage he was feeling inside. He decided to ask a question he wasn't sure he wanted the answer to.

_Did you kiss her back? –SH_

John stared at the phone for a long time after it indicated he had a new text. Sherlock's text had taken longer than he was comfortable with. He slowly picked the phone up and read the message, swallowing hard and typing as quickly as he could. They needed to get this out of the way.

_Yes. –JW_

This time Sherlock did swear, surprising himself with the vehemence used and felt. Why did this matter so much? Why did it hurt? Bloody hell, were those tears? He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the atrocious feelings gripping him. He took a long and deep breath, to help further quell the sudden strong feelings.

_I see. -SH_

He finally was able to send a message, and he made it short because he really didn't trust himself to do otherwise.

The text made John hang his head, a breath shaking his chest. He could text Sherlock and say he was drugged or make other excuses. He didn't. His thumbs moved quickly over the keys of the phone.

_I'm sorry. It didn't mean anything.-JW_

He hit send and stared at the phone before typing again.

_I love you.-JW_

After hitting send he tossed the phone on the table and ran his hands down his face. "Fuck."

Never before had Sherlock cared what others thought of or even did to him. So, why did this hurt so much? He felt...betrayed? He sighed, trying to understand. He didn't want to stay angry. He typed in a message in his phone and for awhile he just stared at it before pressing send.

_I forgive you. –SH_

John read the message multiple times. He didn't know if Sherlock actually did forgive him or not. He sighed and bit his bottom lip.

_I don't think I will be able to sleep tonight without you.-JW_

The confession made him blush even though he was alone but it was true. He had gotten used to the rhythmic rise and fall of Sherlock's chest beneath his head and the smell of Sherlock surrounding him every time he woke up.

The truth was, it was easier to target his rage and everything else Sherlock was feeling at the nurse. She would pay and he was most certainly going to try and ensure it was by his bare hands. He would probably be able to get off on insanity plea, assuming a body was found to make a murder charge stick to begin with. He felt slightly better after contemplating the nurse's demise.

_Well, try to. You need to get your strength back. –SH_

John laughed softly and slowly started his reply.

_Sherlock, that's when you say something endearing like 'I know John, I don't think I will be able to sleep either.'-JW_

The moment he hit send, Samantha came downstairs. He easily pocketed the phone as she rubbed his shoulders, one hand running smoothly through his hair.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows and smirked a little, even though John couldn't see him.

_I still have some things to learn, it seems. John, I miss you. There, is that better? –SH_

He smirked again as he hit send. He was starting to feel better about the whole nurse thing.

John relaxed into Samantha's touch, letting out a content sigh as she rubbed his tense muscles. She suggested that he soon join her upstairs because he would need his rest. The moment he felt the phone in his pocket vibrate he agreed and said he would be upstairs soon. She left and he quickly read the text.

_Much better. I'm sleeping in your bed tonight, maybe it will help. Your room is a mess, by the way. –JW_

He was smiling like a young boy as the message was sending, glancing upstairs with a hesitant sigh.

Sherlock smirked yet again and replied almost immediately.

_You just don't understand my filing system. Everything has a place and a reason to be there. If you can find one, use one of my scarves as a substitute if you think it will help you sleep. I'm sorry I can't be there. –SH_

He sighed after hitting send, a sense of longing washing over him. He really wished his emotions would pick a feeling and stick with it. What was that saying? An emotional roller coaster ride? Yeah, he finally understood that phrase.

Mrs. Hudson was moving around behind John, smiling as John laughed loudly and began furiously typing on the phone.

_Sure, you'll have to show me when you're back. Going to snuggle the Hell out of your pillow instead, should be a decent substitution. -JW_

He picked up the cup of tea Mrs. Hudson placed in front of him, grinning into the liquid as he hit send.

_You are just too lazy to look. -SH_

Sherlock grinned a little as he typed the short message and then pressed send.

_No, I'm not. Pillow is just more convenient. Smells more like you. -JW_

John took several large sips out of his tea cup and took a deep breath, typing furiously again.

_Don't want to go upstairs. Means I have to stop texting you. -JW_

_Sleeping will do you good, now go. I won't reply after this for the night. Text me again when convenient, if inconvenient text anyway. Don't forget to delete all sent and received messages, if your haven't already. Good night, John. -SH_

John didn't reply, merely deleted the messages and slowly carried himself upstairs. It wasn't a surprise, really, that Samantha was already asleep in Sherlock's bed, the blankets pulled up to her chin. He hesitated and quickly decided to nab one of Sherlock's pillows and head to his own room, curling into his bed with the pillow wrapped tightly in his arms, the cell phone charging right beside him.

Sherlock sat in the room for awhile after that, just staring at the phone. He sighed and took his own advice and deleted all the messages in the phone and then stuck it back into his pocket. He continued to sit on the bed for several more moments after that but finally stood as he took off Lestrade's coat. He removed the box from the inside pocket and placed it in the night stand. After he unlocked the door, he opened the door and walked back out to the living room. He tossed the Detective Inspector his coat, lightly. "If you want in, we do things my way." If John trusted Lestrade, then he'd trust him partially. Not with everything but before he had planned on leaving the Detective Inspector in the dark on everything. Never before had he let someone change his mind on something, as he was usually a very stubborn individual. John was changing him in some ways, but he was okay with that. Change was inevitable in life, so why fight it?


	14. Chapter 14

Lestrade jumped slightly, the jacket landing on his head before he pulled it away. What in the world had gotten into Sherlock? Nearly an hour ago the other man was about ready to kill him and now he was willing to let him in? "Fine. I will do it your way. I don't have a problem with that." He tossed the jacket on the floor. "So what's the plan?"

Sherlock thought for a moment before replying. It was possible this place was bugged as well. After all, Moriarty did say he was keeping an eye not just John but Lestrade and even Mrs. Hudson. So, it wasn't paranoia so much as a viable conclusion. "You remember my message to you back at the flat?" He waited to see if the Detective Inspector would catch on. Surely the man couldn't be that dumb? Hopefully, he wouldn't regret working with Lestrade.

Lestrade was quiet for a long moment before giving Sherlock a sure nod. "Fine then, I'll make the tea this time." He spoke softly to start their game again, lazily walking over the back of the couch and brushing his shoulder against Sherlock's as he moved toward the kitchen. "I'm glad you're doing better." He put the kettle on and leaned against the counter before biting his bottom lip. He needed to make small talk. "I've been see—Never mind..." He shook his head and studied his feet instead.

Sherlock glanced around the living room and when he found the Detective Inspector's laptop he picked it up and brought it into the kitchen. He started it up and without asking he guessed the password in two tries. "Assuming I care who you are seeing, which I don't, it isn't any of my business." He began to type busily.

_This place might be bugged as well, did you even check? More or less same plan, Moriarty needs to think I'm slipping. He wants to crush me, destroy me. I'm going to let him think he is. He sees my…feelings…for John as a weakness and I'm going to use them to crush him. Emotions can cut both ways, I am finding._

His own honesty shocked him but now was not the time for ambiguity, which was how he usually went about things. What was it John had said? 'You being all mysterious with those cheekbones.' He smiled at the memory.

Lestrade narrowed his eyes for a moment before reading what Sherlock had typed, quickly pulling the laptop toward him and typing busily. "Well, I figured you would want to know...I don't know."

_Of course I checked. It isn't bugged. Nobody knows about this house. Did two sweeps._

He slid the laptop toward Sherlock and took a deep breath. "I figure you already know that I've been seeing your brother." He looked down toward the floor and cleared his throat.

"I had figured as much but it still isn't any of my business and nor do I care. It is however why I decided to trust you. My brother and I may not get on well but if he trusts you then I guess I can too." A lie but saying otherwise would reveal Sherlock had talked to John recently. He thought for a moment and then finally typed on the keyboard.

_Better to be safe. Too much at stake to allow for any mistakes._

Lestrade nodded surely and made the tea without talking, handing a cup to Sherlock as he read the laptop. "Good. I'm glad we've got that out of the way." He put one hand in his pocket, the other holding his cup of tea to his lips as he took a tentative sip. After setting the tea cup on the table he grabbed the laptop again.

_Understood. What's the plan?_

He moved to lean on the table, studying Sherlock intently. He understood the stakes of the situation and was more than willing to help the man in front of him.

Sherlock was quiet, staring into the cup of tea thoughtfully. He wasn't sure how much to let Lestrade in. He usually just did things without saying anything to anyone. Even when John had worked with him on cases, he would disappear from time to time. He did things on his own because it was usually more efficient. Now though, everyone was watching his every move. Going off on his own would only result in Mycroft, Lestrade or both trying to track him down and possibly interrupting a crucial point of the plan inadvertently. Without taking a drink of the tea, he set the cup down finally. His hands had a stinging sensation from the heat the cup resonated, but he typed out a message anyway.

_Moriarty isn't just targeting John. He has eyes on you and Mrs. Hudson. Possibly my brother. Me of course. Things have gotten really dangerous, for everyone who knows me. Are you sure you still want in?_

After he was finished typing he looked over at Lestrade, an unusually serious expression on his face, and the faintest sense of concern in his light colored eyes.

Lestrade read the note and met Sherlock's gaze, taking a deep breath. It hit him, suddenly, that this was serious. The situation that he was about to put himself into wasn't like the usual cases back at the Yard. He swallowed and grabbed the laptop, typing furiously.

_Yes. I want in. I owe you so much, Sherlock. It's the least I can do. Helping you and John and Mrs. Hudson...it's practically my job. I'm in. I don't care how dangerous it is._

He straightened and licked his lips, studying Sherlock before giving another sure nod. After a pause he grabbed his tea cup and moved back to the living room, falling on to the couch with a sigh as he watched the television.

Sherlock nodded once, picked the cup of tea back up and finally took a sip. Lestrade was a good man despite the fact the two didn't get on well at times. Usually he was the instigator, but that was true for any fight he got in really. He was a bit surprised the Detective Inspector walked away but maybe the man needed time to process the gravity of the situation. He had seen the weight of the circumstances and the briefest of hesitation in Lestrade's eyes before the other man had answered. "For the record, you have a rather boring house." He typed a message into the laptop, but really didn't feel like moving, so he stayed at the kitchen table. He continued sipping on his tea and decided to wait until the Detective Inspector came back over to read the message, largely due to sheer laziness.

Lestrade laughed softly, turning a bit to look at Sherlock. "It's normal. Clean. Good enough for me since I'm usually at work anyway." He shrugged and finished his cup of tea, setting it on the coffee table in front of him before standing and moving slowly toward Sherlock and the laptop.

"Like I said, boring." Sherlock set down his now half empty cup of tea. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it up. He inhaled and exhaled normally, not breathing deeply like he had been doing. He took another drag as he waited for Lestrade to read the message.

_I will need access to the following information: Everything you found out about the nurse. Any camera footage within a five mile radius of where Moriarty's corpse should have been found. I am going to need to take a look at the crime scene where John's shooter was found. Any video of the store where John got shot, thirty minutes before and after. Any footage from street cams from the time John and I left the flat to the store, again thirty minutes before and after. All footage from street cams within a two mile radius of my flat in the last three months._

Lestrade read the message and nodded to Sherlock as he started typing. "It gets the job done."He smirked and glanced at Sherlock. "Two people really seem to enjoy it," he muttered.

_I can get them to you tomorrow. I pulled the bug from John's room. Apparently he's staying in your room though._

Suddenly and irrationally, Sherlock found himself jealous of Lestrade and Mycroft. That the two could see each other whenever they wanted, while he and John were forced to texting on untraceable cell phones when no one else was around. He read the message and merely nodded in reply. His eyes closed, as he took a deeper intake of the last of his cigarette.

"That's the last one you're smoking here," Lestrade stated absently as his phone went off. He pulled it from his pocket and opened the new text, smiling softly and typing a quick reply. "Do you want anything to eat? I'm going out."

Sherlock opened his eyes and regarded Lestrade. "I still haven't eaten the food you made, so no." He crushed the finished cigarette on the table and left the butt there. He shifted away from the Detective Inspector, lips puckered slightly in a pout, as the sense of jealousy washed over him once more.

"Figured you didn't like." Lestrade shrugged and moved to a closet, pulling a second jacket from it and slipping it over his shoulder. "You have my number, text me if you need anything." He looked back at Sherlock and sighed, biting his bottom lip. "I'll be back before tomorrow morning, alright?" With a nod he turned and opened the door, walking swiftly to the black car now parked in front of the house.


	15. Chapter 15

John had tried to sleep in his bed, tossing and turning, wincing as the pain in his side became unbearable. He stared at the ceiling for a while before grabbing the cell phone and slowly started typing.

_I miss you. Can't sleep. I wish you could come back. –JW_

After Lestrade left, Sherlock let out a loud of groan of frustration and splayed lazily in the chair. His cell phone vibrating startled him and he almost toppled onto the floor. He used the table to catch himself and sat up straight once more. He pulled out the phone and smiled. He had told John he wouldn't text him again tonight but he really needed a pick me up right about now and the only one who had a chance of fixing that was John.

_I miss you too. If I thought it wise, I would. We have to assume Moriarty is watching at all times and of course now my brother's people. It would be near impossible to go undetected. –SH_

John held the phone above his face, lazily texting his reply while narrowing his eyes to make sure he wasn't blinded by the light from the phone screen.

_Is it stupid that I don't care about my safety as long as I'm with you? -JW_

He bit his lip before hitting send, realizing how emotional the entire text sounded.

_I care about your safety, it is why I have to stay away. Maybe for a long time, I'm sorry. –SH_

Sherlock got up from the chair, the phone in one hand, and he walked over to Lestrade's cabinets. He found where the liquor was held easily enough. He needed something stronger than the cigarettes and he almost regretted not picking up heroine, his drug of choice, when he had the chance to do so. The bottle of scotch would make a lousy substitute but if Lestrade wasn't going to be back until tomorrow there was no real reason to stay sharp.

John closed his eyes for a long time, holding the phone tightly to his chest before taking a deep breath.

_Just our luck, right? What are you doing right now? -JW_

He set the phone on his chest and pulled Sherlock's pillow against him, whimpering softly and wishing that his pain pills weren't in Sherlock's room where Samantha was sleeping.

_Luck has nothing to do with it. –SH_

Sherlock purposefully didn't answer the question, because he didn't want John to worry about him. He opened the bottle finally and didn't even bother to use a glass. The liquid went down hard, his face scrunching up from the taste and the burning sensation. This was his first time drinking since seeing the "Hell Hound" and given his thin frame the desired result shouldn't take long to take effect. Supposedly drinking was supposed to dull the pain. He didn't know how else to deal with all these emotions lately, so he thought he would run an experiment but on himself this time.

_Just an expression. Wasn't serious. Is it idiotic that I want to tell you I love you all the time? -JW_

He stared at the phone for a while, even contemplated calling Sherlock just to hear his voice. He slowly propped himself up, Sherlock's pillow on his lap. He planned on staying up a while and taking advantage of any contact with Sherlock that he could get.

_I love you. -JW_

He hit send and started typing again with a soft smile.

_A lot. –JW_

Every time Sherlock went to reply to a text his phone would vibrate as another one came through. He waited a bit, taking another drink of the scotch. The taste was dreadful and he couldn't fathom how some people drank the stuff on a nightly basis.

_John, I love you too. –SH_

He wondered if maybe the drugs John were on were making him a little loopy. Or was this one of those things couple did? It took a little longer to focus but eventually he remembered that some couples felt the need to play the "I love you more" game, something he didn't understand and even now wasn't sure he did. Wasn't saying it once enough? He took another drink, the liquor not going down quite as hard this time around.

_Ever going to tell me what you're up to? -JW_

He took a deep breath and glanced out the door of his bedroom, contemplating the idea of moving down to Sherlock's room to grab his pain medication. It would risk taking drugs that Moriarty wanted him to. It would risk the pull of sleeping in the same bed as Samantha. He let his head fall against the headboard behind him with a groan.

_I am in the process of conducting an experiment. I'm still awaiting the results. –SH_

It was more or less the truth. Sherlock took another drink, his tongue and throat finally numb to the burning sensation. The alcohol must have begun working, because his head was getting some kind of strange feeling. What was the term? He couldn't think of it so he sent another text.

_John, what's that term people use when drinking? Not drunk but that in between stage? –SH_

John was in the middle of asking what experiment Sherlock could possibly be up to when he received the second text. His chest tightened and he suddenly found out how fast his thumbs could move over the keys on the phone.

_I don't think you should be drinking, Sherlock. With Moriarty out there you need to be as alert as possible. Where in the world could you have possibly gotten alcohol? -JW_

He stared at the phone nervously, wishing he were at Sherlock's side to stop him from making such destructive decisions.

_Please stop. –JW_

Sherlock read the message and took another drink of the scotch, the once full bottle almost half empty now.

_He isn't after me, after everyone else. John, you can get alcohol anywhere. Better this than using heroine again, isn't it? Since we are on the subject of bad habits, I have started smoking again. –SH_

After sending the text he took another drink. His head continued to get fuzzy and he was finding it difficult to remain standing. The chair looked too far away, so he plopped down onto the kitchen floor.

John was up instantly, ignoring the searing pain that shot through his body at the too-fast movement. He was desperate now, scared, worried of what was going to happen if Sherlock wasn't able to defend himself. He pulled on a pair of jeans from the floor as he hit the call button on the phone, stopping his rough movements as he felt blood trickle down his right side. "Sherlock? Sherlock! Stop it. You've got to stop!" He didn't even bother to check if the other man had answered before he started shouting.

Sherlock looked down at the phone as it vibrated, expecting to see another text message, but the phone kept vibrating as the call came through. With the back of his hand that held the bottle he rubbed at his head. His stomach suddenly felt sick, due to not having consumed anything but nicotine and scotch an almost a forty-eight hour period, but he managed not to vomit. Once the phone stopped vibrating, he attempted a text though it took effort to type, and he wasn't entirely certain it was grammatically correct but suddenly he just didn't care because he was rather sleepy at the moment.

_not safe cant talk rite now. –SH_

"No. No..." John scrambled with the phone nervously, only stopping when he suddenly felt hands on his side and a soft female voice reprimanding him for aggravating his injury. "S-Samantha, thi-" He was cut off by eager lips on his own and, for some reason, he couldn't find a reason why he should stop. Suddenly, wrapping his arms around the smaller body in front of him was the best idea he had ever had and Sherlock was quite quickly forgotten.

"Well, it looks like the great Sherlock Holmes can't really handle himself." There was a 'tsk tsk' that echoed through the kitchen as Moriarty came forward, his mouth twisted to the side in mock disappointment. "It is a shame, really, that your little toy has led you to this." He moved a foot forward to gently kick the bottom of Sherlock's shoe. "Sitting on the floor of Greg Lestrade's kitchen worried more about yourself than a certain Army doctor back at your flat. Quite a mistake, wouldn't you think?" Moriarty shrugged, his hands burying in his pockets as he tilted his head to study the man in front of him. "Would you like to listen to what John is up to right now?"

If Sherlock had been capable of any cognitive thought he would have spoken but instead he laughed. He wasn't sure why he was laughing but it seemed all he was capable of doing right now. He shifted so he could look up at Moriarty through his now blurry vision. He blinked several times, trying to will himself sober but that didn't seem to work. Finally he found words to speak, "I'll kill you…" He scrambled to his feet, swaying in the process but somehow managed not to fall. He squinted so there weren't so many Moriarty's in his visage.

"Right. Of course you will." He laughed softly, looking down at the ground with a smile. "You'll kill me while you're extremely drunk. Great plan there. Really." Moriarty paused and took a step closer to Sherlock, looking up at the consulting detective. "Did you know Samantha is sleeping with John Watson right now? Slipped a drug into his cut. Suddenly he can't stop himself, can't remember that he's apparently in love with you." He reached up and patted Sherlock's cheek. "At least somebody got lucky tonight, right? I mean, when they're done she's going to kill him." The words were low, Moriarty's face suddenly serious and his eyes dark.

Sherlock leaned back a bit, not because of the touch but because he needed to use the counter top for support to remain standing. He dropped the phone he had been using to text John with, the sound echoing as it hit the floor. He reached his now free hand in his pocket as casual as possible, and with effort he concentrated. He didnn't need to be looking at his usual cell phone to use it but it was hard to access his mind palace clearly right now. Contacts, M, Mycroft, text. He kept his squinted gaze upon Moriarty, fingers gripping the bottle rather tightly now. He swung the bottle at Moriarty, not really expecting to make contact but he was hopping the motion will distract the other man from the hand in the pocket.

_Johm. Troble. Go. -SH_

Moriarty ducked away from the bottle, eyebrows lowered as he shook his head. "Really? Now, now Sherlock." He focused on the bottle for a split second before meeting Sherlock's gaze again. "Do you really think that swinging some silly little bottle will get me to go away? You really are drunk, aren't you?" He laughed loudly and took a step back, pulling a phone out of his pocket. "We can still catch the end." He waved it around with a smile.

Sherlock was slowly sobering, or maybe he was just hoping he was. He removed his hand from his pocket and then moved it behind his back, the gun he placed there back at the hotel was still there. He brought it around, trying to aim for Moriarty's head this time. He squeezed off three rounds. Even if none connected, the shots fired would bring the authorities, though Moriarty would probably be gone by the time they showed up.

Mycroft shot an annoyed glare to Lestrade across the dinner table, pulling his phone out before freezing.

Lestrade knew that look anywhere, had seen it more than once on Mycroft's face, and he was out of his chair so fast it fell over. He was sprinting out of the restaurant, not caring about the stares, and quickly wishing he had taken his own car. He glanced at the neighborhood before he heard Mycroft behind him, the black car suddenly in front of them. "221B, now!" Lestrade shouted as he ripped the door open, tumbling in and glancing at the other man.

They entered the flat less than three minutes later, Lestrade sprinted quickly into John's room without a care. He was just in time, he reckoned, because John was nearly naked and Samantha was completely. He jumped back with a shout. "Oh, sorry! I'm sorry!" He covered his eyes, heard John start to stumble over his words as Samantha screamed. There was movement and it was suddenly quiet. John was standing beside him, shorts hanging low on his hips and his body swayed. Lestrade wrapped his arm around John's back to keep him steady. "I was...heard a report...and." He cleared his throat as John muttered something about Sherlock. "I'll take him downstairs." It was effortless, he was careful of John's wound as he threw the smaller man over his shoulder and proceeded to drop him on Sherlock's bed.

"Good thing Sherlock knows to text me even when he is drunk," Mycroft muttered as Lestrade entered the living room, glancing at the text on his phone before running a hand through his hair. "Is he still at your house then?"

"Yeah, should be. Thought I had everything hidden." Lestrade cast a nervous glance at his companion before he shrugged. "Wonder what happened?" Lestrade had finally relaxed, taking a long sigh before his phone was going off. He pulled it out of his pocket and answered it calmly. "DI Lestrade," he lowered his head and sighed, looking up at Mycroft after a long moment. He ended the call. "Got to go, shots fired at my house." He took several steps back, his gaze locked on Mycroft and his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket. Mycroft just nodded before he whipped around on his toes and was down the stairs.


	16. Chapter 16

"Sherlock!" Lestrade burst into the house, carefully looking around before he discovered Sherlock in the kitchen, alone, with a gun in his hand. "Sherlock..." He moved forward and grabbed the gun, taking a deep breath and winced. "Good Lord, of course you decided to drink. What the Hell happened?"

Sherlock was in no shape to run after Moriarty, so he let himself crumple back to the floor because standing was more effort than he was willing to put in, even though the counter top was supporting a majority of his weight. Whatever adrenal and sheer force of will had possessed him moments ago, dissipated just as quickly as it had come. He slumped slightly to one side, his head rested on the cabinets below the sink. His gaze moved to Lestrade when he entered the home and willingly relinquished the gun when it was taken away. He was getting sleepy again, his brain was still mostly a fog of cob webs. "Sleep," he uttered and then passed out onto the floor.

"Right. Of course." Lestrade groaned and put the gun on the kitchen table, looking at Sherlock before he moved into the living room and grabbed a pillow and blanket. "Bloody wonderful. Get drunk and fall asleep on my kitchen floor. Graceful, really." He lifted Sherlock's head and placed the pillow on the floor before covering him up with the blanket. He saw the phone Sherlock dropped on the floor, noticed a new text from John Watson, and placed the phone beside the pillow. "See you tomorrow morning then." He moved to the couch and pulled his phone out, dialing Mycroft and carrying on a soft conversation until he fell asleep on the couch.

Sherlock only slept a few hours and he woke up with a start, screaming John's name. The blanket flew off, as he sat upright with a bolt. He fought for control of his breathing and swallowed convulsively. The initial shock of the nightmare that just shook him finally ebbed. He let himself fall back, head landing on the pillow. The cell phone brushed his ear and he picked it up. He didn't even read the text message, he just dialed the only number programmed into the phone.

John groaned, blinking several times before pawing around Sherlock's bed to try and find the phone that was going off. He glanced around the room for a long moment, attempting to figure out where the Hell he was, before accepting the call and placing the phone against his ear. "Sherlock?" His voice was quiet, his throat raspy as it all came back to him. He was drugged, Samantha had touched his side and suddenly they were nearly naked. He was wearing unbuttoned jeans and no longer in his bed. He vaguely remembered Lestrade carrying him to Sherlock's room. "Sher- Are you okay?" He sat up slowly, looking around the room. "Where are you?"

"John, you are okay. I'm sorry. I have decided to come home. I don't care what my brother thinks. I thought staying away would keep you safe..." His words came out rushed and then suddenly trailed off. Sherlock took a deep breath, his free hand wiping the sweat away from his eyes.

"Wha'?" John looked around for a moment before slowly standing up, wincing at the movement before he moved quietly into the living room. Mycroft was sprawled across the couch, catching John off guard for a moment. "What happened, Sherlock? Y-You sound...not good. What is going on? Where's Lestrade?" He wanted to just talk to Sherlock but the questions were coming out faster than he could think.

"I will explain everything when I get home. I'll be there soon." Sherlock stood up finally and eyed the laptop on the table, it was still on. He remembered Moriarty being at the house but the exact specifics weren't clear. He wondered if the messages between he and Lestrade had been read, he would just have to assume yes for now. "John, I miss you."

John smiled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, I miss you too." He took a deep breath and bit his bottom lip, glancing up toward his room. "We'll need to hide you come morning if we want to keep Samantha around here. Good insight, y'know? Kind of a link and all that." There was another pause and John's gaze landed on Mycroft. "Your brother is here, on the couch. We'll have to be quiet when you get here." He twisted his foot against the floor and realized he is grinning like a child. "I'm going to hang up now so you can finally leave. See you soon." He ended the call and slowly moved across the kitchen, putting a kettle on and pulled two mugs out.

Sherlock had zero intention of letting that woman stay at his flat. He was done hiding. Also, the thought of that bitch being there with John and touching the doctor sparked a mean jealous rage he hadn't really realized he had until now. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He picked up the gun off the table, tucking it into its usual spot as he walked to the living room, picked up the coat Lestrade had discarded on the floor when Sherlock had thrown it on him. He put the coat on and walked to the bedroom, removed the box from the night stand and then headed out the front door. He took a taxi to the flat and then let himself in.

John prepared two mugs of tea. It was wishful, he knew, to hope that Sherlock would want to sit on his bed and sip tea, but he put the effort in anyway. The moment he poured both cups he heard the front door open. His heart rate picked up, he could feel it, and his stomach was twisting in knots in a nearly painful sensation. There was a moment where the only breath he could take was shaky, his feet moved slowly without his consent. He suddenly found himself standing at the top of the stairs. "Sherlock." His voice lacked the confidence he wished it would have but just staring at the man has caused him to lose any control that he usually had.

Sherlock bounded up the stairs two at a time and stopped a few steps down, so he and John were the same height. He wanted to pick John up in a giant hug and never let go, but he restrained himself because he didn't want to exasperate the wound on the other man's side. He just stood quietly, a small smile finding its way to his lips.

John studied Sherlock for a long moment, smiling softly himself before he leaned forward and roughly met Sherlock's lips. He didn't care that the other man probably didn't even know what to do but he can't help himself. He lifted his hands to tangle in the other man's hair, nipping at Sherlock's bottom lip. He pressed his bare chest against Sherlock with a soft moan and finally pulled away, taking several deep breaths and meeting Sherlock's gaze. "Hi." He smiled and laughed nervously, clearing his throat. "I...Yeah. I made some tea."

Sherlock returned the kiss, savoring it even though it didn't last long. God, how had he been willing to walk away before? "First things first, I'm kicking out Mycroft and the nurse. Neither of them need to be here now that I am."

"Um. Yes. Of course. Yeah." John looked at Sherlock for a moment before glancing over his shoulder. "Let them sleep through the night, will you? I don't think you realize it but it is one in the morning." He paused and leaned forward to meet Sherlock's lips again. He couldn't help himself. "Just come and relax." It was out of character for him, he knew, but he was so focused on Sherlock that he didn't care about anything else. He was determined to distract Sherlock. "Please." His voice was a desperate whisper, as he sucked at Sherlock's neck and moved his hands inside the jacket that didn't feel like the one he was used to.

Sherlock was about to reply, but John did indeed distract him as the other man began sucking on his neck. He leaned forward a bit, his arms coming to wrap around John's waist gently, pulling him into a hug. His fingers scratched up and down the bare back lightly.

It didn't take long, John figured it wouldn't, but hee was caught slightly off guard when he felt Sherlock's fingers on his back. He shivered and tried to hold in a breathy moan, pressing his hips against Sherlock as he nipped at the skin below his lips. "Made tea," he whispered against Sherlock's neck as his hands absently yanked at the other man's shirt to untuck it, his hands splayed across the exposed stomach without hesitation. "Thought it would be romantic to sit and drink tea in your bed." He chuckled at how absurd it sounded now but didn't care. Any time he could spend with Sherlock would be good enough for him.

Sherlock mumbled between kisses before finally forming a coherent string of words. "Don't want tea, want you." It didn't take long for the implications he just made to sink in, although he hadn't meant it in that way. Or had he? He really wasn't sure. His body sent him all kinds of crazy messages at times like these, most of which he still couldn't decipher. He kissed a little more aggressively, biting John's bottom lip, and he surprised himself by growling slightly.

John closed his eyes for a moment, nearly going limp in Sherlock's arms at his words. "God, Sherlock." He was suddenly breathing hard and meeting Sherlock's lips roughly, his tongue incessantly brushed against Sherlock's lips. "Are you sure? Serio-" John cut himself off as his hips involuntarily snapped forward, a loud moan escaping his mouth and echoing through the flat. When in the world did Sherlock have this much power over not only his emotions but his body as well? He was hot, flushed, and couldn't even think clearly. "Got to make it to your bed first," he muttered absently, his hips thrusting forward again against Sherlock.

Sherlock wasn't sure what gripped him, lust, desire or possessiveness but he moved up the few steps and continued to lean into John. He was kissing, biting, growling, scratching almost frantically and uncontrollably, consumed completely by the moment and feelings. He was so eager, that he was actually okay with just doing it at the top of the stairs. His breathing got heavy and his lower body was grinding against to and into John's. He growled yet again, but rather loudly this time.

John backed up as Sherlock finally came up the rest of the stairs, grunting into Sherlock's kiss as his back hit the wall just beside the door. He felt Sherlock pressing against him and gasped, burying his face against Sherlock's shoulder, biting down on Sherlock's collarbone as his hips started a slow rhythm despite their clothes. He wanted to talk but he couldn't form any coherent sentences and the only thing he could think of was how much he really wanted this. "Sherlock," he managed to choke the name out, promptly ignoring the blood he could feel starting to trickle down his side.

John saying his name, made Sherlock pause in his frantic wanton need and he looked down at the shorter man. "Too…fast…?" He asked in between breaths, surprised he was capable of speaking right now. His gaze finally caught the blood trail and he swore under his breath. Though his desire was great, as indicated by the bulge in his pants now, he backed away from John slowly with immense effort.

John grabbed blindly for Sherlock, shaking his head. His hands grabbed Sherlock's coat and he pulled him forward, whimpering when their bodies bump together. "N-No, just fine, keep going..." Because he needed this and they couldn't just stop. Sherlock was clearly interested, he could feel it, and he'd be damned if they would both walk into the kitchen like this. "Don't stop." He met Sherlock's lips, it was sloppy but he doesn't care. "Please."

Sherlock was torn between desire and worry. The kiss, though sloppy, aroused the desire he was feeling more deeply. He leaned back into John, breathing in the other man's ear as he spoke, "But your wound..." He nibbled lightly on the lobe, their bodies pressed together once more.

"Don't care," John's voice was rough and he rutted against Sherlock several times without a rhythm, a ragged whimper escaping his lips. "You don't either, obviously." He lifted his arms, wrapping them around Sherlock's neck. "'M fine. Promise." He rested his forehead on Sherlock's shoulder, taking several deep breaths and moaning into the fabric of the jacket pressed against his cheek. "P-Pick me up." He pulled his ear away from Sherlock's mouth so he could meet the other man's gaze. "Gonna wrap my legs 'round you, be quick." He nodded and sucked in a shaky breath.

The words stung and Sherlock wanted to be the child he often was and pout. However, John's close body kept his mind and body intoxicated with a flurry of emotions. He nibbled on John's neck thoughtfully and then once more spoke, breathily, into the other man's ear. "If you insist perhaps it would be best if we lay down...be less stress on your body...especially if you take the top?"

It took a moment for John to reply, his brain was struggling to decipher what Sherlock had actually said. "J-Just do it, not going to last." He tensed his torso, shouting quickly as the act yanked at his stitches. He easily wrapped his legs around Sherlock's waist, sighing loudly through his nose to hide the pain. For a moment John was extremely still, pressing his back into the wall and biting down hard on Sherlock's collarbone. His hips pressed against Sherlock's roughly and suddenly he realized he wanted it over only because he was in pain and he figured he was doing this more for Sherlock anyway.

Sherlock held onto John briefly, his body screaming at him do all kinds of things but his mind yelled at him more loudly and he set John down gently. He shook his head, "John...no...not like this...bloody hell, look at you...what did I do...I'm sorry..." He wanted to nuzzle into John to comfort him but he didn't trust himself to stop this a second time. "Come on, I will clean your wound my dear doctor..."

John wanted to object, a whimper escaping his mouth as he was lowered to the ground. "Wanted to welcome you back." He took a deep breath and tightened his hold on Sherlock's neck as the room started spinning. He rested his head on Sherlock's chest. "I think I need to lay down." He took a shaky breath and groaned. "Room is spinning."

"Here you are." Mycroft was standing at the door with a damp towel in hand, a knowing smirk on his lips. "The couch is free. Probably smart to let him rest, little brother, before trying to shag him against a wall so loud the entire flat can hear."

"Then wait a bit," Sherlock murmured into John's ear. His eyes closed and his head bent and leaned to one side so the that their heads were now touching. Given the angle he was at, he had to put a hand on the wall to help hold him up. He opened one eye when Mycroft spoke, smirking back slightly. He straightened his body and took the towel, completely unconcerned with the fact that his older brother had caught them. He turned his attention back to John. "This is going to sting, try not to squirm." He then applied the towel to the wound, with a precise applied pressure of firm yet careful.

John was too weak to do anything except lean further against Sherlock, the stinging at his side the least of his worries. He opened his eyes slightly to glance at Mycroft before letting his gaze fall to where Sherlock's hand was pressing a towel against his wound. There was more blood than he thought.

"Sherlock, he's pale, move him to the couch," Mycroft's tone was worried as he took a step forward.

John barely heard the demand as he closed his eyes and collapsed against Sherlock.

Sherlock supported John's whole weight as the other man slumped against him. He picked him up gently and easily, despite his own thin frame. He moved around Mycroft without a word and over to the couch. He set John down, so he was laying down. "Get some bandages." He nearly barked the order, without turning to look at his brother. He knelt down on the floor, applying the towel for pressure. He sighed, tilting his head so it rests on John's shoulder.

Mycroft moved faster than usual, moving into Sherlock's room and finding the bandages that Samantha had brought with her. He moved back to Sherlock's side with a bit of a grimace, looking at the young man on the couch in front of them. "You should have been responsible, Sherlock. Why are you here?" His voice was low as he knelt beside his brother, pressing his hands against the towel and motioning his head toward the bandages. "You do that, I will keep the towel on him."

Sherlock lifted his head as Mycroft knelt next to him, purposefully ignoring the question. He took the bandages and set about the task of reapplying them, working in silence. He didn't owe his brother anything, least of all an explanation. He really was tired of everyone dealing with him as if he were some child incapable of making their own decisions.

Mycroft accepted the silence with a sigh, watching Sherlock work on John's wound intently. "I'm worried about you is all." He slowly pulled the towel away from John's side, holding on to it so the blood wouldn't stain the floor. He stood up and looked around the flat for a place to discard the towel. "That was why you were staying with Lestrade. I know you missed John...it's just, this is serious, Sherlock. So serious."

Once the bandages were in place properly, Sherlock finally stood and turned to confront Mycroft. His eyes were narrowed, his lips twisted in a puckered fashion as if he had just eaten a lemon. "Don't you think I know that? Moriarty is more likely to get at John, if I am away. At least this way, I'm here to take care of him. Protect him." He paused for a breath because he was speaking in a quick, rushed hushed tone. "Moriarty has eyes on Lestrade too you know, but that doesn't keep you from seeing him does it? So, don't. Just don't. You have an invalid argument. Also, that house 'no one knows about' isn't safe. Moriarty visited me there while you were out on a date. " Sherlock had added that last part in attempt to hurt his older brother.

Mycroft could have lied. He could have said he was meeting with Lestrade to discuss Sherlock and John's safety. He didn't, though. "Lestrade isn't in as much danger as you or John, Sherlock. And don't forget that going into hiding and not seeing John was your idea. Not mine, not John's, not Lestrade's." He glanced over Sherlock's shoulder to check on John before making himself comfortable in one of the chairs. "We know he showed up while you were there, we aren't as stupid as you think we are." He studied Sherlock's gaze for a long moment before shaking his head. "Greg just texted me, he is fine. Worried about you, naturally, but Moriarty hasn't shown up yet."

Sherlock wanted to punch his brother in the face for being so infuriatingly calm and well, _right_. "Just get out. Take that nurse with you too. Neither of you are welcome here right now." He turned away from Mycroft, arms crossed over his chest in a pout, much like the child he was often accused of being.

"You and I both know I'm not leaving. Samantha needs to stay, too. If we are going through with this plan then she has to stay. Live with it and stop acting like such a child." Mycroft folded his hands over his stomach and turned to look at Sherlock's back. "Which means you will either have to hide extremely well tomorrow morning when she wakes up or leave. If you choose to leave then she can take care of John." His eyes dropped to the sleeping soldier on the couch. "Cover him up with a blanket, he's only wearing a pair of jeans. He's cold."

Sherlock spun around to glare at Mycroft. "No, I want her out my flat. Out _now_. I am not leaving and I'm not going to hide anymore either." His gaze softened when he turned to look at John's sleeping form. He stalked off to get a blanket and when he returned he placed it gently on the sleeping man. He knelt down to whisper in John's ear, "No nightmares. I'm right here." He splayed his fingers through the short sandy blond hair briefly before standing back up. Once more his attention focused on his older brother. "If you won't make her leave then I will. Dead or alive. I really don't care so long as she never sets foot in my home again."

Mycroft watched intently as John leaned into the touch, humming softly when Sherlock's hand pulls away. "You don't understand, Sherlock. If we want to stay close to Moriarty then we've got to keep her here. We can't bank you on getting drunk and him showing up at random times." He took a deep breath and swallowed, motioning his head back to the kitchen. "Go get your tea, probably a bit cold after your almost-shag, but it should calm you down. John's probably going to sleep through the night, you exhausted him."

"We don't need her. I can catch Moriarty just fine on my own. I'm serious. I don't want her here anymore." Sherlock didn't care if he sounded childish. He couldn't stand the thought of that woman here with John. It made him sick inside. It made his blood boil. Who knew he would turn out to be such a jealous lover? He wasn't sure if he was just being overly possessive of John or if he felt a fierce need to protect the only person he had ever really cared about.

"Then she will be gone tomorrow morning. That means you have to focus a lot on John now. He will need around the clock care." Mycroft stood and motioned downstairs with his head. "Mrs. Hudson has an extra bed downstairs, that is where I will be." He brushed past his younger brother before disappearing.


	17. Chapter 17

John only stirred slightly on the couch, his eyes closing tighter as he let out a groan in his sleep.

Sherlock merely nodded at Mycroft's words and he moved over to John's side. He sat down by the couch, his back against the arm of the couch closest to John's head. He tilted his head, so it came to rest on the sleeping man's shoulder. He reached behind him, fingers scratching lightly through John's hair, hoping to help calm the doctor's restless sleeping.

John instantly moved closer to Sherlock, licking his lips in his sleep and whimpering softly. He wiggled under the blanket before his eyes cracked open and glanced down at Sherlock. "Hi," his voice cracked and he smiled sheepishly. "Wanna lay down? I would be more than happy to sleep on top of you." He sighed and closed his eyes, leaning into Sherlock's touch eagerly.

"I am fine on the floor. It wouldn't be a good idea for me to do that. John, you need to get better. Please, just sleep. I will be right here when you wake up. I'm not going anywhere." Sherlock lifted his chin a bit so he could look up at the other man's face. He gave a small smile, but the worry was clearly written upon his features and in his blue-grey eyes. He continued the methodical rubbing of John's head with his long, thin fingers.

John studied Sherlock for a long moment before he leaned forward and placed a soft kiss to Sherlock's temple. "I love you." His voice was quiet as he relaxed back against the couch and quickly fell back asleep, a weak smile on his face and one hand resting on Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock's smile broadened at those words. He nuzzled his head into John's shoulder. Although it was an awkward angle for his head to be at he whispered into John's ear. "I love you too. Sleep well my dear doctor." He decided he liked that name for John. Not really a pet name, but more of term of endearment for him alone.

John slept until sunlight was peaking through the windows, waking up with a groan as his hand tightened against Sherlock's shirt. His world was blurry and for a moment he forgot that he was no longer in the hospital. "Sherlock?" He slurred the name as he tugged at the shirt in his hand. " Cold. Get up here."

Sherlock didn't sleep at all. He wasn't tired. He had slept a long time at the hospital and gotten even more sleep on Lestrade's kitchen floor, although that had been alcohol induced. He had slept more in the last twenty-four hours than he had all month. He didn't move from the spot at all, until John woke up. His body was a bit stiff, so he stood and stretched first. "Want me to slide in under you? Isn't really big enough for us both to fit otherwise and I don't want to crush you or irritate your wound. Speaking of, I should tend to it first. Clean it and change the bandages." He stretched his tired limbs once more, looking down at John with a smile.

John kept one eye open to study Sherlock, smiling lazily. "Do whatever you need. I trust you." He reached out and grabbed Sherlock's hand, lacing their fingers together. "Would rather fall back asleep on top of you though." His smile was wide as he spoke and he tugged Sherlock's hand. "Snog you breathless and finish what we started last night."

Sherlock smiled gently. "I will be right back." He retrieved new bandages and antibacterial ointment swiftly and knelt down next to John. He moved the blanket away and then peeled off the old bandages as gently as he could. Before applying the ointment or fresh bandages, he inspected the wound to make sure it was healing properly. He looked for any sign of festering or irritation.

The moment the cold air hit John's body he tensed, every muscle in his torso outlined. He didn't bother to watch Sherlock, turning his head away and waiting for him to finish. "We almost shagged against a wall last night." He laughed and lifted a hand to run through his hair. "So close." He turned his head and his eyes held amusement as his hand ran through Sherlock's hair. "Almost had you."

The wound seemed fine and clean to Sherlock. He applied the ointment directly to the bandage and then placed it so the ointment would rest and rub against the wounded area. He was quiet while he worked, his gaze intent upon his task. He finally shifted it to John's face when he was done. "John...we can't keep..." He trailed off searching for the right words and then settled for "...fooling around. It is selfish of me. You need to get better. Stronger. You won't if I keep...distracting you..." He needed to stay in control of his emotions and desires. "I'll keep you warm and snuggle in next to you, but that's it. Promise me, John...please?" He knew that if they started in again any self control he had right now would go out the window. His eyes never left John's as he spoke, his tone and look serious.

The words hit John like a freight train. He struggled to take a deep breath as he met Sherlock's gaze. "Yeah, of course." He nodded and slowly sat up. "As much as I want to continue where we left off...I understand. Yeah. Respect what you're saying." He leaned forward and gently met Sherlock's lips, pulling away with Sherlock's bottom lip between his teeth. "Now get up here, I want to go back to sleep and this couch is uncomfortable." His hand patted the open area behind him as he shifted slowly to rest on his knees, bouncing slightly like an excited little boy.

For once Sherlock hadn't been tryingto be cold and distant and seeing John's reaction hurt. He was able to keep his face neutral though, since he had finally gotten a hold of his emotions that had been running rampant since John had been shot. He got onto the couch without a word, instantly drawing John to him once he was situated.

John smiled happily against Sherlock's chest. His hands rested comfortably on the other man's hips. He didn't speak as he nudged Sherlock's legs open with his hip, settling between them with a content sigh. "Love you." He lifted his head and quickly kissed Sherlock, his eyes half open as he studied the other man's face. "And I really mean that." He snuggled his head against the shirt beneath his cheek and relaxed, going limp and chuckling. "Don't want to sleep now, want to lay here and listen to your heartbeat, take it all in."

Sherlock smiled, one hand came to rest upon John's back and the other looked for the comfort and familiarity of  his hair. He ignored the urging feeling when his legs were nudged open. So, instead he rested his chin on top of John's head while his fingers ran though it lightly. "My dear doctor, I love you too." He was rather content with just laying with John, and it had a rather calming effect on him and his body relaxed completely.

"You going to fall asleep, aren't you?" John's voice held amusement as he wiggled against the body beneath him, moving his hands to rest on Sherlock's chest. He let out a low hum of appreciation as Sherlock ran his hand through his hair, his lips parting in another comfortable sigh. So many things were racing through his mind. He wanted to talk but felt like it would ruin the moment. He wanted to snog Sherlock and get them off with their clothes still on. He chuckled lightly as he realized he was still shirtless and pressed closer to Sherlock as a small chill ran through him.

"I hadn't planned on it. Not tired really…just…content I guess." Sherlock's fingers continually traced John's head. They scratched here and there and sometimes just twirled a lock or two around his fingers. He was still in yesterday's clothes and Lestrade's too small coat. The gun was still in place, but its slight form pressing into him didn't even really register. The box was still in the inside pocket of the coat and the contents of his pockets were still there as well. It really hadn't occurred to him to empty his pockets before crawling in with John.

John didn't reply. He was too content to do much else and he was suddenly completely limp against Sherlock. "'M going to sleep," he muttered against the shirt below his cheek. "Tired." His mouth twisted in a half smile before he drifted off, snoring softly against Sherlock's chest.

Mycroft came up the stairs silently, already showered and changed, and nodded toward the kitchen. "Coffee?" He mouthed the word as he studied John for a long moment, reminding him much of a small child in his current position.

Sherlock smiled at John, his hand coming to stay in one spot on the other man's head but still scratching lightly. He turned his gaze to Mycroft and merely shook his head in reply. He didn't want to leave or even have this moment interrupted by anything. He was enjoying it and wanted to savor what he could, because he wasn't sure when they would get a chance to just lay around and enjoy each other's company again.

Mycroft nodded and moved into the kitchen, making two cups anyway. He returned to the living room and set the cup on the floor beside the couch, just in case. He took a sip from his own cup before nodding toward John and raising a brow in question. The two of them didn't really have to speak to understand each other, something the younger Holmes seemed to be happy with, given the sleeping soldier on his chest.

John stirred lightly, his face tightening as a small mumble was pressed into Sherlock's chest. One hand slipped from Sherlock's chest to the couch, pressing into the cushion roughly. He pressed the crown of his head into Sherlock's chin with another groan.

Sherlock smirked faintly but once more shook his head. When John stirred, he turned his attention to the man on top of him. Once more, he whispered words of comfort into an ear. "Now, now. Sleep easy. No restless sleep for you. No nightmares. Just a deep, peaceful sleep." To help comfort the sleeping man, he went back to running his fingers to and fro through the sandy blond hair.

John relaxed almost instantly, exhaling loudly through his nose.

Mycroft watched with a weak smile, turning away for a moment and sipping from his mug. "He is dreaming about losing you." he muttered softly, as he turned back to his brother. "He was the same way while you were gone. He'd wake up shouting your name." Mycroft moved across the living room and made himself comfortable in a chair.

John tensed again and buried his face against Sherlock's neck.

"He had the nightmare in the hospital as well." Sherlock had a faint frown on his lips. "Subliminal messaging only works so long really, but it doesn't hurt to try anyway. Also, it's morning. I want that nurse gone. Probably better if you take care of it. I'm not sure I'd be accountable for my actions if I shared the same room with her." He finally looked over to Mycroft, his expression serious and the smallest hint of murderous hate in his eyes.

Mycroft shook his head slightly and forced a smile. "Calm down, Sherlock. She's been alerted. We should see her leaving within the hour." He pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his jacket, turning his attention to the screen. He glanced momentarily at Sherlock before starting a text message.

For a moment John was still before he groaned in his sleep, opening his mouth against Sherlock's neck as his entire body tensed. He woke up with a jump, pressing his body roughly into the one below him as he looked around the room gasping for air. His eyes fell on Sherlock, wide and scared, and he blinked several times before roughly meeting Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed at Mycroft's words. However, when John stirred he turned his attention to the man on top of him, his face instantly softening. He was about to speak when John kissed him. He returned the kiss, though tenderly. He honestly didn't care that his older brother was there and watching. No shame, a Holmes curse one could say.

John pulled away slowly, his eyes still locked on Sherlock's face and taking it all in. "Bad dream," he whispered as he settled against Sherlock's chest, his head facing away from Mycroft as he pulled his blanket over them tighter. He took a deep breath before he shifted slightly against Sherlock, a hand reaching in between them and ran boldly across the front of Sherlock's pants. He glanced up at the other man questioningly, doing it again with a bit more force as his other hand grabbed Sherlock's hip gently.

Mycroft seemed oblivious to the couch as he began another text, settling into the chair and facing the fireplace.

Sherlock's breath caught a moment from John's touch. His body squirmed into John's with anticipation automatically. There was a part of him that badly wanted this to continue, but every time something like that happened, John's wound would get worse. His eyes closed in thought, trying to fight for control of the emotions that went all helter-skelter just from one touch from John. It was amazing to Sherlock really, how quickly his mind could be changed. He opened his eyes, stared into John's and then gave a slight nod. "Careful…be careful…don't want you hurt again…" His voice was quiet and breathy.

John smiled and moved slightly to reach both of his hands between their bodies, trying to be as quiet as he could. His fingers moved expertly, unbuttoning Sherlock's pants swiftly. There was a moment's pause before John met Sherlock's lips as one hand dived in the other man's underwear, tightly wrapping around Sherlock. He opened his mouth against Sherlock's to swallow any sound the man below him might make as his hand started a slow rhythm in between them. He let out a heavy breath through his nose as he moved to nip at Sherlock's neck, his free hand moved to cover Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock gasped in pleasure from the touch of John's hand down his pants. He growled excitedly into John's open mouth kiss, as their tongues tangled for a moment. He matched John's rhythm, a shiver of pleasure rippling up and down his spine. He nipped lightly and playfully at the hand over his mouth. His one hand stayed ensnared in John's hair, fingers scratching rougher than usual in hungry lust. The other was also scratching, but along the other man's bare back.

John hissed against Sherlock's neck, slowing his hand down with a grin. "Shhh." He whispered against Sherlock's neck, nudging the other man's ear with his nose before moving to meet his gaze. He motioned his head toward Mycroft, who was now on the phone and deep in conversation. He tightened his grip on Sherlock's erection and pulled his other hand away to gently kiss him. He nipped at Sherlock's bottom lip and winked as he pulled away, pressing his forehead against Sherlock's and looked down between them with satisfaction. His hand picked up the pace again. John took several deep breaths as the muscles in his arm tensed.

Sherlock smirked and shrugged. "Don't care," he murmured under the hand. His breathing was rapid, short bursts. His lower body rocked in time with John's strokes, his cock rock hard by now. He leaned into the kiss, tongue running along John's lips longingly before finding its way into the other open mouth in experimental exploration. He growled excitedly once more. His fingers dug into John's head and back a little roughly, excitement over taking any control he had.

For a moment John froze, realizing that the noises coming from Sherlock's mouth were loud and couldn't be mistaken for anything else. He was about to speak when Sherlock invaded his mouth. He couldn't hold back a moan and blushed as he tried to hide it. He slowed his hand down considerably. "I care. Quiet or I'll stop." His voice was rough as he whispered, his hand tightening around Sherlock teasingly.

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow. "You realize he knows right? My brother isn't stupid." He grinned up at John. "Besides, I bet I could find ways to convince you to keep going." As if to help prove his point, he leaned forward and began kissing on John's neck and slowly worked his way up to the lower ear lobe, where began to nibble. Both hands were on John's pants now, and with a little work went about undoing them. He wasn't quick and sure at it like John had been, mainly because he had no experience here. His lower body still rocked back and forth, his hips grinding into John's enticingly.

"N-No, this is about you." John moved his free hand to bat away Sherlock's touch and shook his head, letting a small moan escape his chest when Sherlock's hips moved beneath him. He moaned again as he felt Sherlock working at his ear, his hips moved against the body beneath him involuntary. He was about to speak again when Mycroft stood. John's movements stopped immediately. The older Holmes brother continued his phone conversation, his back to the pair, as he moved into the kitchen. John laughed softly and squeezed Sherlock's erection, resuming his pace. "Not enough strength to do much except make you happy."

Sherlock smiled, even though John can't see it. He spoke into John's ear directly, "It should be about us both my dear doctor. Shouldn't it? That's how these relationship things are supposed to work…?" He finally pulled away from John, so he could look up at the other man. "Just being here with you is enough to make me happy. Everything else is…a bonus I guess." He laughed at himself. "Listen to me being so… _ordinary_ …" He leaned forward and kissed John on the lips.

John tiredly returned the kiss, it was lazy as his tongue ran across the roof of Sherlock's mouth. He pulled away with a soft smile and shrugged. "Typically yes but given the circumstances." He pressed kisses against Sherlock's jaw, rotating his hand with a quick snap of his wrist as his hand started to move faster. "I'll be fine, promise." He lied smoothly because he had no choice. He knew that he would end up passing out if Sherlock tried to do anything about the obvious bulge in his pants. "Stop talking and focus, will you?" He nipped at Sherlock's collarbone roughly.

Sherlock merely nodded suddenly too distracted to speak anymore. His hips gyrated in time with John's hand, his breathing once more rapid intakes of breath. His fingers fidgeted uncertainly for a moment but finally settled on John's back, scratching lightly at first but it turned intense quite quickly, his nails leaving streaks of red. A pressure was building inside and he didn't understand why really. It was feeling wonderful though, glorious in fact. It wouldn't be long now until the pressure building would be released.

John smirked, it was proud because Sherlock seemed to be speechless and he did _that_. He chuckled softly, arching his back in Sherlock's scratches with a hiss. He wanted to congratulate Sherlock, he thought, for lasting this long his first time. He chuckled again and roughly kissed Sherlock, closing his own eyes as his hand moved faster between them. He was panting against Sherlock's lips, his hips moved slightly on their own accord against Sherlock's thigh. "C'mon, Sherlock." He moved and nipped at Sherlock's ear.

Sherlock didn't last much longer after John spoke. A rather loud moan of pleasure was issued from his lips as he finally came. He laid there panting, eyes closed now. "God John…that…is it always so…" He didn't seem capable of forming any kind of coherent thought right now so he just stopped trying. He opened his eyes and smiled up at John.

John moved deftly to pull the coat off of Sherlock, wiping his hand on the fabric before cleaning Sherlock up the best he can. "It can actually get better," he whispered softly and returned the smile. He tossed the jacket off the couch with a laugh. "Practically the whole block heard you, Sherlock. I'm afraid to see what happens when I give you a blo-" He blushed and cleared his throat, relaxing against Sherlock gingerly to keep the bulge in his pants away from any part of Sherlock's body. He hissed slightly before resting his chin on Sherlock's chest and smiled widely. "You really liked it then?"

Sherlock smirked and eyed the coat briefly. "Guess Lestrade won't want that back anytime soon." He rested his chin on John's head, and he pulled John's body closer to his to snuggle into it. "I don't care if everyone knows. A blo-what?" He thought for a moment. "Oh never mind. Pretty sure I just figured that on my own. God, never thought I would want to smoke a cigarette after something so…amazing…"

John just listened to Sherlock with a smile on his face, laughing softly and sighing. "That's so ordinary, Sherlock. Everybody smokes after they get laid." He pressed his hips softly against Sherlock's thigh, biting his bottom lip to keep from crying out at how good the small amount of friction felt. "That was yo-your first time, wasn't it?" His voice caught in his throat as he rutted against Sherlock again. "Hope it was what you expected." He pressed his face into Sherlock's chest and took several deep breaths.

"Do they?" Sherlock asked, actually wondering why that would be. His deduction process was halted completely from his thighs being wiggled into and his body squirmed against John's in an automatic response. "Yes. Honestly, I didn't have any expectations but it was bloody fantastic." His hand once more found the top of John's head, his thumb making small circles on the other man's scalp.

"Fu- Sher-" He thrust against Sherlock's thigh several times before he froze and hissed in pain, gripping Sherlock's hand in pain and collapsed against the body beneath him. He took several deep breaths, looking at Sherlock for a moment with a weak smile. "Y-Yeah, they do. Movies and all that good stuff." He kissed Sherlock's jaw several times. "I'm glad you enjoyed it then. Does that mean we get to do it again?" He raised a brow questioningly, taking in the expression on Sherlock's face. "You look amazing right now. Relaxed, happy." He paused and pressed against Sherlock again. "I did that." He grinned proudly and met Sherlock's lips, his tongue moving quickly into Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the mention of movies. Those things were about as accurate as Anderson. "Of course we will do it again." At seeing John in pain, he frowned with worry. "Later, when you are well rested." His frown quirked into a smirk though, at John beaming, and he was about to reply but instead he returned the kiss, his tongue meeting John's and intertwining with it. With a force of will, he broke the kiss and stared up at John. "You aren't looking good. Please…I was afraid this might happen. I seem to have poor impulse control when you are around. I'm not sure I'll have control if we keep doing this. We should stop. Just lay with me and rest."

"Easy for you to say." John joked smoothly as he took a deep breath. "You aren't the one with a blasted hard-on laying on top of a rather attractive man." He smirked and rested his head on Sherlock's chest. "I'm tired." The statement ended in a yawn and he moved his hands to wrap around Sherlock's neck. "Sleeping." He yanked the blanket closer around them before drifting off quickly.

Mycroft entered the room nonchalantly, his phone in his hand. "Couldn't have waited until I was gone at least?" He glanced at his young brother before motioning toward the stairs. "She left. Probably heard you two. Whole neighborhood did, actually. Didn't think you'd be so loud your first time." He smirked and motioned toward the coffee. "Still there, probably still warm."

Sherlock was about to reply to John but the other man fell asleep before he could. His attention turned to Mycroft and he smirked back. "You could have left sooner and I don't care if everyone heard. Good for them. Wasn't expecting it either…just happened." He shrugged his thin shoulders slightly, not feeling the least bit awkward or embarrassed about discussing this with his older brother. He motioned to the coat on the floor with his head. "I think I owe your Detective Inspector a new coat." He smirked yet again.

Mycroft laughed softly, as he eyed the coat before moving toward the couch. "I will just leave that one here and buy him a new one. That might fit John so he can wear it once it's washed." He slipped his cell phone into his suit jacket before studying John. "He's sleeping a lot. That's good. Gonna help him heal." He moved his gaze up to Sherlock and took a deep breath. "How long have you known about Lestrade and I?" He crossed his arms as he studided his younger brother.

The smirk stayed plastered on Sherlock's face. "Awhile now. It wasn't that hard to figure out. Sending Lestrade at Baskerville? Really obvious then. Why else would the Inspector show up at your request? It's no wonder his marriage is in trouble." Sherlock shrugged, the last part wasn't a pass of judgment merely an observation. "I never said anything to either of you because it isn't any of my business nor did I care. Hell, I still don't care to be frank. Good for you, I guess. And even if I hadn't figured it out, which is unlikely, Lestrade told me while he and I were temporary housemates."

A nod of approval came from Mycroft. "As always you are correct." He nodded toward John and raised a brow. "You and John then? I know he instigated it, you're a bit too shy...and partly a virgin. Of course it was him. He started by comforting you and it turned into something more. Something we all knew was coming at that." He shifted on his feet. "He's happy, happier than he's been in a while. At least since Afghanistan. It's a pleasant sight." He glanced around the flat before nodding. "I think I'm about ready to go, give you two the rest of the day before I come back."

Sherlock snorted at being called 'shy'. "That will be the only time someone calls me shy." He smirked a bit but then his face and tone turned serious. "Mycroft, I know we don't always get on but..." He trailed off and coughed "...well...thanks...for everything…" He looked away from his older brother, the situation now becoming awkward and embarrassing for him at this point.

Mycroft smiled, it was forced and barely reached his eyes. "Yes, of course. It's the least I can do. I will be back around sunset." He nodded his head and turned on his feet, heading downstairs as he dialed a number on his mobile.


	18. Chapter 18

John stirred against Sherlock with a whimper, waking up with a frown. It had only been ten minutes at least and he was already having nightmares. "Still exceedingly happy?" He asked through a yawn.

Sherlock was lost in thought when John woke back up. He blinked a few times and his vision finally came into focus on John's face. He smiled slightly. "I can hypnotize you, so you don't have nightmares anymore, if you want?"

John raised a brow and tilted his head to the side in questioning. "You can what?" He laughed softly, shook his head as he gently kissed Sherlock. "Not tired right now," he whispered as he kissed Sherlock again. "I missed you too much. I shouldn't just be sleeping while you're here. I should be awake...taking it all in." He ran a hand under Sherlock's shirt, and across his stomach with a light touch.

"The point of the hypnosis would be to set up subconscious mental blocks, to help prevent nightmares. However, I suppose I could hypnotize so that you fall asleep at a certain command word." Sherlock smirked a bit. "Anyway, that's up to you. Also, you should be sleeping as much as possible. We have plenty of time later on down the road to enjoy each other's company. Besides that, the faster you heal the faster we can make me growl loud enough for all of London to hear." He smirked again, but it quickly switched to a content smile from the light touching on his stomach, his eyes closing.

John laughed softly and continued the soft touches on Sherlock's stomach. "I'm fine, really. I don't need hypnosis or anything." He spoke in a whisper as he ran open-mouthed kisses down Sherlock's neck. "I am resting, not doing any vigorous activities." His hand moved from Sherlock's stomach to dip inside the waistband of his underwear. "Just making you happy. Technically I'm laying down, barely moving." He smirked as his free hand tugged at Sherlock's shirt, exposing his collarbone which John quickly nipped at. "Watching me sleep must be so boring. I've got to make this at least a little interesting for such a genius."

Sherlock enjoyed the light touches. It was very…sensual, he supposed the right word be. It was calming and enticing at the same time. His eyes finally opened again and he stared up at John, the content smile still etched upon his lips. "I told you. Just laying here with you is enough to make me happy." He stopped talking when John teasingly played with his underwear, a small whimper of desire exuded from his lips, his leg twitching involuntarily. It was amazing to Sherlock how quickly his body and mind lost control from every touch and kiss he received from John. Usually, such loss of control would infuriate the young genius. However, he was okay with it. It definitely kept things far from boring because he honestly didn't know how he would react next. Things were far from boring, as he felt like he was constantly figuring out the moves to an intricate dance.

The whimper below him made his chest swell with pride and he hummed in appreciation against Sherlock's neck. "Like that, do you?" He moved to look Sherlock in the eye, shrugging and twisting his mouth to the side. "That's unfortunate, I've got to get up and shower." He pecked Sherlock's lips as he shifted against him, letting the blanket fall to the floor as he stood and tripped over the coat. He winced and turned toward it, picking it up cautiously and eyed Sherlock. It was heavier than a normal jacket should be, something he hadn't picked up on when he used it as a towel earlier. He reached his hand into one of the pockets, pulling out the small box. "What's this?" The light-hearted mood evaporated, he could feel it. He was clutching the box as he took a deep breath. "Sherlock, what is this?"

Sherlock was about to speak, when John tripped over the jacket. He turned on his side, so he could look at the other man. "Just a safe box. It's handy for emergencies, better to have everything at the ready in one spot so you don't have to scramble and get them in haste. I need to restock it at some point and find a new location to hide it." He shrugged and then added, "you can look through it if you want."

For a moment John let his eyes move between Sherlock and the box, the jacket slipping to the floor. "There's no drugs in here?" He bit his bottom lip and shifted on his feet. "I trust you, don't really want to go through your personal stuff, but please tell me there are no drugs in this box." He gave it a small shake and eyed it nervously, looking back at the jacket. "Anything else I should be worried about? Did you have a gun in your back pocket while I got you off?" He sounded a bit frustrated, his voice raised slightly as he gave the box another shake.

Sherlock arched a brow at the sudden change in John's demeanor and tone of voice. "The only drugs that were in that box were a box of cigarettes. They are now located in my pocket, so no there are no drugs in the box. As for the gun, technically it's tucked in my pants not my pocket but yes I have one." He wasn't really sure why John was so upset. Everything had been fine, perfect in fact, and now everything had taken a one-eighty spin.

John forced a smile on his lips, nodding. "Right. Of course. I'm going to go shower." He tossed the box toward Sherlock, standing and looking at the floor for a long moment, wiggling his fingers before turning and walking toward the bathroom. He shut the door quietly before leaning back on the door with a sigh.

"Oh. Well. Isn't that unfortunate?" The voice was high and the words were spoken like part of a song. "Poor little Army doctor worried about his consulting detective." Moriarty walked slowly into the flat, hands in his pockets and his eyes wide in mock surprise. "Thought you'd started drugs again. Tsk tsk, Sherlock. Worrying him like that. Can't be healthy to let him get upset with such an injury."

Sherlock caught the box and set on the floor next to the now cold cup of coffee. Upon hearing Moriarty's voice, he took out his gun as an automatic response. It was fixated right between the man's eyes. He was tired of the games, of Moriarty's voice, Moriarty period. So without even being bothered to reply to the taunts, he pulled the trigger, twice.

John came rushing from the bathroom in his boxers, skidding to a stop and looking at Sherlock, then Moriarty. "Sh-Sher-" He ran a hand through his hair and moved in front of Sherlock. He grabbed the gun while his other hand softly rested on Sherlock's side. "Did you just shoot him?" His voice was soft and he stared at Sherlock's shoulder as he tossed the gun on the couch. "Are you alright?" He jumped into action, his hands on Sherlock's face and running down his arms searching for any injuries. "God...Sherlock, talk to me." He knelt down gingerly, meeting Sherlock's gaze.

Sherlock never took his gaze off the fallen man, as he more or less ignored John. He got up off the couch, picking up the box and took out the other gun, since John had taken the one he had held before. He walked over to the body, making sure to step on the chest without mercy. "This ends now." The words come out a practical growl. He shot the face repeatedly, blood spraying everywhere. On the floor, the chair Mycroft had been sitting in, Sherlock's clothes, his hands, his face. "Come back from that you son of bitch." Pure, unadulterated hatred was in his tone of voice.

John flinched and rushed forward. "Sherlock!" He lowered his shoulder and plowed into the other man's side with a grunt. "Stop it, Sherlock. Now!" He pulled the gun from Sherlock's hand and slid it across the floor effortlessly. Without hesitation he grabbed Sherlock's hand and laced their fingers together. "God, we are in so much trouble." He dropped his head and sighed, wincing at the feeling of blood on Sherlock's hand. He reached up and used his hand to try and clean Sherlock's face the best he can. "Deep breaths, close your eyes." He took his own advice and shifted against the body beneath him.

Sherlock would have finished the clip off but John knocked him over. He started laughing, "I beat him John. I won." He kept laughing, but it really wasn't a pleasant sounding laugh.

"Shut up, Sherlock. Stop!" John took several shaky breaths before moving to get off of Sherlock and stumbled to his feet. "You just shot him multiple times. What the Hell were you thinking?" He started pacing back and forth, too distracted to realize that his bare feet were covered in blood and he was making footprints. "You've got to run. They'll lock you up for this."

"Running will only make it worse, John. Mycroft or Lestrade will show up soon probably. We'll get it all sorted." Sherlock was surprising calm for just killing a man in cold blood.

"No we won't! You shot him! Multiple times, Sherlock!" He turned and shoved Sherlock's chest, his jaw tensed. "We are screwed, y'know that? There's no way to defend this. " John glanced out toward the street as the sound of police sirens suddenly drew near and he threw his arms in the air. "Great. Wonderful. Bloody fantastic." He whipped around to look at Sherlock. "Is this what you wanted then? Hmm? To get locked up so I could never see you again?"

"John..." Sherlock trailed off at a loss for words. He turned away from John, his eyes closing with a sigh. His head was bent down and shoulders slumped, as the reality of the situation finally hit. It looked like Moriarty would win after all.

John took several deep breaths, swallowing hard before moving in front of Sherlock. "I love you." He wrapped his arms around Sherlock, ignoring the blood, and closed his eyes. "Run, Sherlock. I can tell Mycroft you went out and that Moriarty came in." He took a shaky breath and pulled away to meet Sherlock's gaze. "We still have our phones. We can text. I'll say it was a sniper. Something...anything. Please. Run." He was pleading now, shaking and trying to keep himself under control.

"A sniper? The bullets would never match to support such a theory. Neither would the trajectory or the close range or the blood spatter." Sherlock sighed and picked up the guns and put them in the box he still held. He hastily wiped away the blood on his face with part of his shirt that wasn't already covered in blood. He grabbed an older, extra coat he had and buttoned it up. "I will fix this, I don't know how...but I will...Tell the Yard I had gone out. That someone came in and shot Moriarty and left. I need to get rid of this evidence...and my clothes..." His mind was racing now, looking for some kind of viable solution. "Do me a favor, muck up the crime scene by pacing around and effectively ruining any foot prints I may leave on the way out. John, I'm sorry...good bye...for now..." He left without another word spoken. The sirens were close, there was no time for a longer, better farewell. He ran down the stairs and he exited the flat calmly, and began to walk away briskly, his collar upturned and head down so no one can get a good look at him. Squealing cars with flashing lights raced by him.

Everything happened faster than John thought. Sherlock was gone without so much as a kiss or "I love you" and he was using his bare feet to smear blood across the floor to cover up Sherlock's prints. He stood in his boxers near the door as Lestrade walked in, letting the Inspector take him into the kitchen. John explained the entire story calmly, about how Sherlock had gone out to buy milk and he had been about ready to take a shower when he heard the gunshots. Moriarty was dead when he had walked into the living room, he had slipped in the blood when he had walked in.

* * *

And then the flat was empty. Clean. Back to normal except without Sherlock. The coat was still on the floor, the blanket was still bundled up at the end of the couch after he and Sherlock had used it to...

John shook his head and hastily grabbed his phone, swiftly texting Sherlock.

_I love you. Be safe. Where are you staying tonight? –JW_

Sherlock had thought about hailing a taxi but decided against it. He walked aimlessly for awhile, with no real destination in mind. He removed the battery from his usual phone, so it couldn't be tracked via GPS. Every time he thought of a place to run to, he quickly dismissed it.

Lestrade's house: He could never ask that of the Detective Inspector and he wasn't sure he would trust the other man to not turn him in. Even if he could and Lestrade was found out, they would both be doing jail time.

Mycroft: He could already hear the disapproval and how he was nothing but a selfish child. He didn't want to have to deal with that right now.

The hotel where he used to get high wasn't safe either. It would be a mistake to go back there again so soon after using it.

Sherlock found his way to where the homeless people stayed. He was already familiar with most of them, because of the extensive contacts he made with them. It was unlikely any of them would turn him in. He slumped against a wall to rest, not realizing his body was so tired until it had finally stopped walking. The untraceable phone vibrated to alert him of a new text message.

_I'm sorry for everything. Every time I try to make things right, I make them worse. It's better if you don't know my location right now. Did the Yard buy the story? If I stay away too long, I'll look suspicious. I'll be back tomorrow morning, if everything seems to have calmed down. –SH_

John set the phone on the kitchen table and showered, changed his own bandages once he got out and changed into a pair of clean pajama pants. He made himself a cup of tea before finally picking up the phone to read the message. It stung to read. There was a lack of the emotion he had grown used to. He wanted to read 'I love you too, John' but instead it was just business now, acting like John hadn't snuggled with him or given him a hand job on the couch.

_Fine. -JW_

He tossed the phone on the table and grabbed his personal phone, quickly calling Sarah. They had had a bit of a falling out but the two had remained shag buddies for stressful situations. She was at the flat quickly, he nearly asked if she was psychic because she must have been just down the street, and it all happened in a blur. They were in his room, she was below him screaming and scratching his back, she was sleeping curled against him and he was staring at the ceiling. He removed himself from her grasp gently, slipping his pajama pants back on and going back to the kitchen, picking the phone up.

What did I do wrong? -JW

He stared at the message for a long time before hitting send, carrying the phone with him back upstairs.

Sherlock frowned at the short text from John. He sighed, figuring he had done something wrong yet again somewhere. God, were relationships always so difficult to understand? He decided to let John cool down about whatever. He got up and began trading cigarettes, money, whatever for some clothes, another coat, and even shoes. They weren't clean but it was better than staying in the blood soaked one's he wore now. He found an area to disrobe, not out of modesty but so no one saw the stained clothes. He removed everything off of him, and then wrapped the clothes, shoes, socks, and underwear into his old coat. He made sure all the pockets were empty before throwing the evidence into a barrel of fire transients used to keep warm. He watched to make sure they burned completely before walking away. By the time he was done with all that, John had sent another text.

_What do you mean? You haven't done anything. Apparently I have though. You are upset, that much is obvious even through a text. –SH_

He thought about apologizing but he wasn't sure what to apologize for. After a moment of thought he sent another message.

_I miss you already. –SH_

John had to stop and lean against the wall outside his room to keep the room from spinning. He had been so upset that shagging Sarah had seemed so logical when he really didn't have the strength to do it. He felt the phone go off twice as he stumbled into the bed, soothingly running a hand down Sarah's back as she stirred. He held the phone above his face and read the messages.

_I miss you so much. Have you gotten everything taken care of? -JW_

He hit send and Sarah spoke next to him, commenting on how pale he looked and how sex might not have been a good idea. He agreed, took a deep breath, and gently kissed her. She was back asleep within minutes and John was typing on the phone again.

_What time are you coming back tomorrow morning? –JW_

_Almost. When I am done, I'll be home. I'm not sure when that will be though, but it should be less than twelve hours. -SH_

Sherlock opted to answer both texts in one. He still needed to dispose of the guns. He wasn't worried about ballistics matching the bullets he had fired at Lestrade's. With his over kill, the bullets from the other gun would probably damage any recoverable evidence from the first two shots fired. The serial numbers were already filed off, as he had gotten the guns by illegal means quite some time ago. He wiped his prints off, with an old dirty rag. It had oil and God knew what else on it. It would contaminate everything the guns had on them. He dumped the guns into a dumpster and then threw the rag he had used into the same fire he had burned his clothes with. Next he traded the rest of his cigarettes, for a jug of water and a Lysol spray can. The water was cold, but he used it to clean his face and hands. He then sprayed the bloodied water on the cement with the Lysol. It wasn't ammonia but it would still be impossible to get a reliable sample from it.

It should be safe now. Really, staying away much longer would be a mistake. If they asked about his phone not being on, he would just lie and say the battery died. Sherlock decided to surprise John by coming home unannounced. He entered the flat quietly and walked to John's room. He stood there in place, in a state of shock. "John…what's…no wonder you wanted to know what time I'd be home…" He immediately turned around but he wasn't sure where to go. He didn't want to stay at the flat anymore but he really had nowhere else to go. He just stood at the top of the stairs, trying to understand why everything hurt so much.


	19. Chapter 19

John was nearly asleep, one arm wrapped protectively around Sarah, when he heard Sherlock speak. It took him a minute to realize it isn't a dream, that Sherlock really was standing at the top of the stairs looking like a lost child. Sarah was awake now as well, pulling the blanket up to her chin and closed her eyes. "Sherlock..." He was breathless, scared. This wasn't supposed to happen. Sarah was a quick shag, something they had both agreed to do in stressful situations, but he barely remembered calling her. Sherlock wasn't supposed to be back until the morning. "This...I mean..." He slid from the bed and left the room, shutting the door and standing beside him.

What was it? John had told Sherlock that he loved him, he had shown that to him earlier in the day...and now here he was with a woman in his bed. "I really can explain..." He choked on the words, his throat was tight and his eyes were stinging. "Stress and...and I was so scared. I don't remember...she was just here...and..." He wanted to reach out and touch Sherlock, grab his hand and kiss him and fix everything. He slumped against the door and covered his face with his hands. "Fuck."

Sherlock turned away from John, so his back was to the other man. His arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed tightly. It seemed the only way to make the tears forming to not fall. He took a breath. When he finally spoke, his voice was cold. "Look at me the fool. I guess I should have known better. Tell me John, was I just an experiment? To see if I could change? Did anything that even happened…mean anything? I should have just stayed alone and protected, but I took a chance like some ordinary fool. A mistake I assure you I will never make again."

"No, Sherlock, it wasn't an experiment. It means so much to me. The world. I love you so much." John closed his eyes at Sherlock's final words and sighed. "Please, don't do this. I need you so much more than I ever thought I did and you can't just leave me. Please." He took a deep breath, sniffed, and reached out to lay a hand on Sherlock's upper arm. "I made a mistake, that's what ordinary people do..." He bit his bottom lip and was suddenly out of words. His throat was dry and he couldn't speak.

Sherlock shrugged off the hand, keeping his back to John. "Love me? Really? Yet it was so easy for you to shag someone else? I know I don't know a lot about love, but if I'm not mistaken when you love someone you don't do that kind of thing. Clearly you don't need me if you can find comfort in the arms of someone else."

How was John supposed to reply to that? It was true. All of it. He had easily turned around and shagged somebody else without a thought in the world. Hell, he had even texted Sherlock when he was done. "It wasn't comfort. I wasn't looking to replace you." His voice was low, dejected. He knew that he was losing the fight and couln't do anything else. "Sarah and I...we...back and forth since the banker case. Just stress reduction, really." He shrugged and brushed past Sherlock, bumping their shoulders together, as he headed downstairs.

Sherlock tightly closed eyes opened and he finally turned, when John was walking away. "I still love you, you know. Maybe right now, I can't forgive you or if I ever will. But I will always love you John Watson." His voice was barely a whisper now and he cleared his throat, not used to emotion gripping him so tightly. It was like someone was squeezing his chest and throat, cutting off his air supply. A tear finally streaked down his face and he turned quickly, so John wouln't see it.

John stopped walking and turned slowly to look at Sherlock. "I know. I love you too. I really do. More than I thought I would." He laughed softly and ran a hand through his hair. "Don't think I will be able to forgive myself, really." He bit his bottom lip and shrugged. He wished things could go back to the way they were that morning when he woke up, Sherlock sitting on the floor in front of the couch running a hand through John's hair. He walked forward while he was deep in thought, not even realizing what he was doing until a moan escaped his chest. He was kissing Sherlock roughly, pinning the other man against the wall.

Sherlock hadn't expected what would happen next and it took his mind a moment to process what was happening fully, but by then he was already returning the kiss. He wanted to shove John away and be angry, but the kissing was so tantalizing and enticing. He bit John's lower lip aggressively, arms wrapping around the smaller man in a giant hug. He wanted to hold onto John and never let go and he continued to grip John fiercely to the point of almost picking up the other man up off the floor. Just when he thought he was finally getting a handle on how emotions worked, he was thrown for another loop.

John grunted in pain as Sherlock bit his bottom lip but didn't pull away. He deserved that, he knew it, and he let Sherlock hold him so tight he could barely breathe. His side was screaming and he coukd feel the bandages getting damp but he didn't care because this was Sherlock and he wanted to fix everything. He finally pulled away for air and ran kisses down Sherlock's neck with a moan. "Love you." His words are rushed, loud. "So much." His hands were pressed against the wall on either side of Sherlock's torso, a knee pressing in between Sherlock's legs and attempting to pry them apart.

Sherlock finally loosened his grip on John, his neck tilting up and back against the wall when it got kissed. He didn't fight the knee, when his legs were spread apart. He was still holding John and he pulled the man closer once more, anxiously this time, but not as tightly as before. He was so enraptured by his intense emotions, he failed to notice John was in no state to keep going.

John continued to kiss Sherlock's neck until black dots appeared in his vision. He relaxed entirely against Sherlock, his mouth open and pressed into Sherlock's neck as he took ragged breaths. He mumbled something but not even he knew what he said. His hands tangled in Sherlock's jacket, one he knew for sure wasn't his because the fabric was too rough. "I love you," he whispered as he slid to his knees, resting his head on Sherlock's hip.

Finally, it registered for Sherlock when John's body went slack against his own. He supported John's weight, one hand coming to rest on the other man's head and he ran his long fingers through the short hair. His emotions had finally calmed down enough for him to form rational thought. "John, we need to stop. Can we just stay like this awhile? I don't want to let you go…"

John nodded, settling against his body with a deep breath. His brows were furrowed as he closed his eyes and pushed himself up to a slightly more comfortable position. "I'm sorry. I love you. I'm sorry." He spoke in a rushed tone, it was small and scared. He was gripping Sherlock's hand like he was not real and will disappear at any moment. "Please don't let me go."

Sherlock slid down the wall to a sitting position, making sure to keep John supported so the smaller man didn't topple over. He then pulled John into his lap gently, bringing the other man's head to his chest. His one hand continued to run through John's hair, the other wrapped around the waist to help hold John in place. "Mine. Forever mine. I'll never let go." His voice was a harsh whisper, and it was evident just how possessive of John he had become.

There was a moment of silence before John looked up at Sherlock. His eyes were half open and his smile was weak. "The Yard bought the lie. Lestrade probably knows anyway." His words were slurring together so he stopped talking, content to listen to Sherlock's heart under his ear. He leaned into Sherlock's touch with a hum, his own hand drawing lazy shapes against Sherlock's side. "You do know 'm gonna fall asleep here, righ'?" He closed his eyes and chuckled.

Sherlock nodded and then gave a small, but genuine smile. "Then sleep my dear doctor, sleep." He tilted his head down and kissed the top of John's head, his fingers scratching lightly now. Once John fell asleep, he pulled out the phone he had been texting John with and deleted all the messages. He thought about searching John for his phone, to see if those texts had been deleted yet, but he didn't want to disturb the sleeping doctor. Instead, he put the battery back in his usual phone and turned it back on to check to see if he had any missed messages or calls.

Mycroft had been desperately trying to reach Sherlock, calling him multiple times before giving up and collapsing into his chair. He figured this was how it would always happen. They would think they had things under control and then everything would explode in their faces. He settled for a text, typing furiously.

_Sherlock, he has Lestrade. They removed Moriarty's body and he went missing. Got a call from a man named Sebastian. Holding him hostage. Call as soon as you can. -MH_

He hit send and collapsed into his chair.

Sherlock read the message and was half tempted to tell his brother that Lestrade missing wasn't his problem. He had been drained emotionally for the day and he wasn't sure he had what it took to go chasing after some mad man named Sebastian. He sighed and called his brother anyway. "Sorry. Battery was dead and just turned my phone on. What demands if any have been made?" He spoke as quietly as he could, so as not to wake up John.

Mycroft held the phone tightly and took a deep breath before speaking. "John." He croaked before swallowing and speaking again. "He wants John." It was an outrageous demand, really, but they both knew why. He wanted to see Sherlock break. This new man worked for Moriarty and had the same goal. "That's it." He wasn't sure if it was selfish to want Lestrade back for the price of John, knew it was wrong and knew it wouldn't happen.

John stirred slightly at the sound of Sherlock's voice, groaning a bit in displeasure but easily dozed back off.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed but when John stirred he absently scratched the sleeping man's head to help lull him into a deeper slumber. "No." He hissed the word into the phone. He gave himself a moment to compose himself. "Even if the trade was viable, which it isn't, all that would happen is they would both wind up dead. Do you know where the abduction took place? Any kind of cameras catch anything? Did you speak to him directly? If so, tell me in detail the conversation and anything you may have heard in the background.I need more to go on than simply he was taken and the body is missing, which, in itself is interesting. Wonder why this Sebastian fellow took the body?" He was thinking out loud now, more than to his brother at this point.

Mycroft took a deep breath and slowly started speaking. "We don't know when he was taken exactly, just some point between leaving your flat and going toward the Yard. We have sent in a request to get the videos." He took a shaky breath and closed his eyes. "Greg was the one who called me. There wasn't anything in the background, he just told me that some man named Sebastian had him and that John was the ransom. Then the call ended. W-Where's John?"

"Mycroft, you are the bloody government. Since when do you need to send in a request to get something mundane like camera footage? Can't you just send some minions in to pull rank and get whatever is needed? I'm guessing the call was untraceable or the very least didn't last long enough to get even a broad location?" Sherlock looked down at John sleeping in his lap, as if to reassure himself he was still there. "Safe." It was the only response he gave in regards to where John was.

"That's what I meant. W-We'll have them within the hour. The call was untraceable, yes, and extremely short. We have nothing to go off of. Even if those videos show where he was picked up we have no idea where he is right now." Mycroft leaned back in his chair and smirked despite the situation. "He's in your lap, asleep. Your voice is low." He sighed and realized how much he missed Lestrade.

Even though they weren't looking at each other, Sherlock imagined they both shared similar smirks right now. "Looks like you haven't lost your touch after all Mycroft. I was beginning to worry about you." He almost told his older brother now he knew how he felt when John had been in peril. Of course, they weren't out of this yet. "Have your people send me the videos and I'll go over them personally frame by frame. Even visit on location, when we figure it out." He really didn't want to work the case. He just wanted to stay at the flat with John and keep an eye on him to make sure he was safe at all times. However, Mycroft had helped Sherlock with his whole mess with Moriarty, so he supposed he owed it to his older brother.

Mycroft managed a soft chuckle and nodded. "I will admit that I was slightly nervous I had lost it myself. I could continue, really, your voice reveals a lot, but..." He paused and took a deep breath before going on, "...maybe we should just wait until John's shag buddy leaves. She might not like being talked about." His phone made a noise and he realized that he had a new text message. "That information should be slipped into your flat within the hour, Sherlock. Do your best." He ended the call.

"'M trying to sleep." John shifted against Sherlock with a sigh, lazily pressing a kiss to Sherlock's neck. He moved one leg, bending it and pressing with his foot to move up Sherlock's body. "Unless you want that blow job now?" He smirked, opening one eye to look up at the other man.

Sherlock's whole body tensed at the mention of Sarah. He didn't say anything more to his brother and put his phone away. It startled and even scared him just how dependent he had become of John. First things with the nurse and now this, but here he was sitting on the floor and clinging to John like he was the only that mattered in the world. He supposed, it was true enough though. John was really the only thing that mattered to him. He distantly wondered if John would continue to cheat and if he would forgive the other man every time anyway. Human nature said, once someone cheated they would likely be a repeat offender. Sherlock's eyes closed, as if that action alone would turn off his brain. He was lost so in his thoughts, he had actually completely missed everything John had said.

John studied Sherlock for a long moment, his eyebrow furrowing together. "Sherlock?" He moved closer to Sherlock's face, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. "You alright?" His voice was a whisper, rough and needy. "I think you need to sleep, you've had a long day." There was a pause and John's hand was traveling down Sherlock's chest, pausing right above the waistband of his pants.

Sherlock's eyes opened, surprised that John was awake. "John...no...stop...we can't keep doing this..." He sighed, unsure if he said that because he was still upset or just worried about the wounded doctor. "Can't sleep right now either. I'm expecting intel from Mycroft's people and I'll need to go over it as soon as it gets here."

John pulled his hand back like he had been burned. "Sorry." He took a deep breath and studied Sherlock intently. "You're doing work for Mycroft? Why? What happened?" He was very awake suddenly, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palm. He rested his hands on Sherlock's chest, meeting his lips gently before asking again. "What happened?" His first fear was that Sherlock had been caught for Moriarty's murder and he couldn't hid the fear from his eyes.

"Nothing to worry about my dear doctor." His, fingers rubbed John's head comfortingly. "Moriarty may be dead, but there is still his intricate crime network to deal with. A man by the name of Sebastian has taken Lestrade hostage. I'm going to go over camera footage. It should be here any minute now." Sherlock purposefully left out the part to trade John as ransom.

"If you keep scratching my head like then I won't be able to keep my hands off you." He slurred his words as he closed his eyes, one hand moving under Sherlock's shirt to draw lazy shapes in his side. "I'm glad you're trying to help." He placed several kisses on Sherlock's jaw. "Very respectable of you."

Sherlock smirked a bit, fingers still scratching John's head. His own head tilted down ever so slightly from the kisses to his jaw, his lips seeking the other man's to finally reciprocate the attention. There was something irresistible about John's little kisses and light touch.

There was a cocky smile on John's lips as he kissed Sherlock, running his tongue lazily across the roof of Sherlock's mouth. He twisted slightly in Sherlock's lap to press against the body beneath him easier. "Mmm...love you," he whispered against Sherlock's lips, nipping at his mouth at the end of the sentence.

Once more desire and lust consumed Sherlock and he gave into the craving of hunger. He slid further down the wall, so he was now laying on the floor. He made sure to balance John on top of him as he shifted positions. The kiss became aggressive like before, and he bit at John's lower lip but with little more control so it wasn't as harsh as the last time. He then moved to kissing and sucking on John's neck, this time not holding back. There would certainly be a mark or two left this time around.

John shifted easily with Sherlock, spreading his legs and straddling his hips. He moaned softly as Sherlock worked at his neck, his hips pressing eagerly against the warm body beneath him. For a moment John paused, shifting his hands to tightly grab Sherlock's hips. He pressed his forehead against Sherlock's shoulder and moaned again.

Sherlock's body pressed back anxiously, as if their bodies weren't close enough and wanting more. His sucking lips, finally moved up along to John's ear. He made sure to show some restrain, given how fragile that particular piece of flesh was. He ran his tongue along the length of the ear and even inside it in curious exploration. His arms wrapped around John, to pull the smaller man closer still, fingers scratching up down his back.

"Fu-Sherlock..." The words escaped John's lips in a moan. He bucked involuntarily against him. John turned to nudge Sherlock away with his nose as his hands slowly unbuttoned the shirt Sherlock was wearing. It was dirty and bigger than what he usually wore and John realized where he must have gotten them when he left the flat. He wiggled in Sherlock's tight grasp to place an open-mouthed kiss on Sherlock's exposed chest.

Sherlock smirked a little, his lips once more returning to suckle on John's neck. He was breathing deeply through his nose, to allow oxygen into his body and it sounded like heavy snorting, as he hadn't paused once to breathe in with his mouth. His lower torso began grinding into John's. One hand continued to scratch, harder this time, as the other one trailed lower and came to caress John's ass.

John took several deep breaths, his mouth open below Sherlock's collarbone. He was tired and struggled to get himself excited as Sherlock but he cauld't tell him that. He closed his eyes for a moment and when he felt Sherlock grind against him, he grunted and pressed back. He was limp against Sherlock, letting him do what he needed because, really, he needed to show Sherlock he loved him. Sherlock needed this more than him. "Yeah, like that." He whispered against Sherlock's chest, swallowing hard and leaning into Sherlock's lips with his neck, anything to distract himself from the fact that he was doing nothing more than acting like a rag doll for Sherlock to shag.

Sherlock was completely self involved in indulging his lust filled emotions. Well, somewhere it registered but he just didn't...care. He needed this. He needed John to be his. His only. No one else's. Maybe if he did all the right things, John wouldn't hurt him again. He finally stopped his insistent sucking to speak, in between ragged breaths. "Need…you…mine…mine only…" Maybe by admitting this, he wouldn't push John away again. His emotions swirled around inside: need, desire, heart ache, love, hate, jealousy, rage. He wasn't sure how it was possible to have such an array of emotions all at once. One thing was clear though, that it was driving him into a panicking, possessive obsession for John. That he had to somehow prove himself worthy now. So, he resumed the kissing and the scratching because a part of him feared if he stopped he would lose John forever.

"I know. Yours. I'm yours." John buried his face into Sherlock's neck to hide his whimper. He closed his eyes as he shifted, putting one leg between Sherlock's and pressed it against his groin softly. He positioned himself so one of Sherlock's legs was between his own so he can at least try to get some entertainment out of this as well. He can feel the urgency of the man below him and he accepted it all, going limp once again. "Love you," he whispered.

"Love you more," Sherlock replied and was fully aware that it would probably hurt John. The jealous rage inside had driven him to it. A part of him wanted the other man to suffer like he was. It wasn't nice or fair and was most certainly childish. He then bit John's shoulder harder than he had all night. He wasn't sure if it was out of frustration for his careless words or for the strange desire to inflict physical pain on John as well.

John slammed his eyes shut and nodded because Sherlock though that it was true. He shagged somebody else tonight, how could it be false? He just agreed numbly, shouting when he felt Sherlock's teeth on his shoulder, his hands clawing desperately at the floor beneath them in any sort of way to forget about the pain. He shifted his knee against Sherlock's crotch with a bit of force and pressed against him with his thigh. He wanted to rebuttal, to argue and say that they love each other equally, but Sherlock needed this. John was more than willing to give it to him.

John's scream almost made Sherlock stop this whole thing, but then he felt John's pressing into his thigh and that brief rational thought left as quickly as it had come. He ground into John, his lower torso squirming with excited expectation. He resumed sucking on John's neck, leaving behind yet another red mark. His fingers continued to drag along John's back roughly, also leaving red marks behind. His one hand still groped at the ass, squeezing it tightly now. It was like he needed to mark John, to show the world that the other man belonged to him and no one else.

After hiding another whimper against Sherlock's shoulder, more in thought of how he would look at the end over the current pain, John pressed his knee against Sherlock's erection again, barely moving and figuring that if Sherlock really wanted this than he would work as hard as he wanted for it. His hips pressed lightly into Sherlock's thigh but it was nothing more than a show to try and keep Sherlock going, to keep the man beneath him happy. This was his way of taking out his anger and John figured this could really be his way of apologizing. He reached a hand up and tangled it in Sherlock's hair, giving it a rough pull to see how much he could get away with.

Sherlock let out an excited growl, from his hair being pulled. In response, he bit John's other shoulder, though not as hard as before, as he managed to show some restrain this time around. After biting though, he sucked on the area with the faint teeth marks. He decided to roll, so that John will be on the bottom now. He then pressed his whole body forcibly against John, both hands now on John's chest where they began scratching yet again.

It happened so fast that the room spun and his head smacked against the floor beneath him. He felt the carpet rubbing against his back as he slid from the force of Sherlock's body against his own. There was no point in paying attention to every bit of pain he felt, Sherlock's teeth marks on his shoulders were throbbing dully, his chest was stinging from Sherlock's nails. His legs spread wider as he reached his other hand up to Sherlock's hair, pulling his head to his neck with more strength than he thought he had. He let out a groan and pressed faintly into Sherlock's hips.

Another growl, louder this time, came from Sherlock. His lips pressed firmly against John's, his tongue shoving its way into John's mouth where it explored frantically. His fingers found their way to John's pants and he fumbled to undo them, as he continually ground against John's in a quick and desperate rhythm.

There was a gasp of surprise, the kiss was unexpected and rough, but he submitted to Sherlock's wandering tongue and tugged at Sherlock's hair again. He could feel Sherlock's hands, could feel his own erection, and he kept his body limp to try and get Sherlock off as quick as possible. His back slid against the carpet with the force of every thrust from the man above him. He nipped at Sherlock's bottom lip softly, struggling to get a breath. He managed to lift his legs, wrapping them around Sherlock's waist and hooking his feet at his lower back, tightening his hands in Sherlock's curls as he struggled to hold back a moan.

Sherlock growled into John's mouth, as he continued the rough kissing. He returned the nipping, but not nearly as gently as John's. Sherlock's teeth almost tore the soft flesh away from the other man's lips. Since John wrapped his legs around him, he shoved the pants down to his knees and he smirked behind the kiss as he got another idea. He stood slowly, his hands coming to rest upon the smaller man's shoulders now, finger nails digging into skin deeply. Once he was sure he could support them both, he slammed John's back against the wall.

The only thing John knew was that his entire body was protesting to everything that was happening but he couldn't seem to stop. The breath was knocked out of him when his back hit the wall. He shouted and pressed his forehead into Sherlock's shoulder. He couldn't bring himself to return the violence that Sherlock seemed so eager to dish out. He pressed his chest against Sherlock's, his arms moving around Sherlock's neck. He pressed his forehead harder in his shoulder and pulled Sherlock against his hips with a quick tug of his feet.

Sherlock returned the pressure John was exerting with his head, his shoulder practically pinning the other man's head to the wall. He kept his body pressed tightly to John, one hand dropping from John's shoulder to his own trousers. It didn't take long for him to undo them and gravity dropped them down to his ankles. He hadn't gotten underwear in the clothes exchange and his erect penis jabbed at John's more or less vulnerable form quickly and roughly.

John closed his eyes and winced when his head hit the wall unexpectedly. His hands drop to Sherlock's side and he moaned the moment he felt Sherlock's pants fall. His heart rate increased because he was suddenly nervous. He didn't know what Sherlock was planning. He took several short, deep breaths in order to calm himself down, to stop the world from spinning so quickly around him. His hand reached between them and wrapped around Sherlock's erection, it was soft and lose and he was waiting for Sherlock to hit his hand away as he started a slow rhythm.

Sherlock did indeed move the hand away, grasping the wrist tightly and pinning that to the wall like the rest of John's body. His other hand worked off John's boxers and he ground into John eagerly, his cock looking to penetrate. Sherlock drew his head back, so he could look at John. His lips are twitched into what would be best described as a sadistic smirk. "Mine, mine, mine, mine..." He repeated the words over and over again, in time with each sloppy thrust.

John looked at Sherlock fearfully and tried to speak. "Sher-" He had to gasp for breath, panting as he tried to shake his head. "C-Can' jus'-" He shouted "N-Not ready for you." He moved his free hand to Sherlock's side, giving it a weak shove. He wanted to shout 'stop' but couldn't bring himself to do it, couldn't find the words. "Sherlock..." It was choked out and he went limp, taking a shaky breath as he tried one last time to convince Sherlock to just get off without penetrating him. "P-Please."

The look of fear on John's face brought Sherlock back to reality jarringly. He saw all the bruises on John's body and it shocked him. Had he done that? Shame swept through him, followed by regret. He set John down gently, the excitement that had swept him up like a tornado suddenly and inexplicable gone. He turned away from John. "I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…"


	20. Chapter 20

It took a moment for John to realize that he was on his feet and he slid to the floor with a 'thud,' his eyes half open as he weakly shook his head. "Fine. 'S fine." He cleared his throat and had a moment to blush because he realized he was in quite the state. He was exposed, his pajama bottoms and boxers in a tangle around his knees. Sherlock's in the same state, he noticed, and that's the last thing he wanted to notice as his eyes closed. "Bed? Your bed?" It was asked in a quiet voice and he was scared that he wouldn't be awake much longer. The fringes of his eye sight were starting to swirl with black and he was slowly coming to terms with how much pain he was in. He could feel the bite marks on his shoulders, the scratches on his back and chest, down across his abs. The bruises from Sherlock's fingers were already clearly defined on his pale biceps. He knew his neck was covered in red marks that would be purple by the morning.

Sherlock turned slowly back to John, his mind still trying to come terms with all the bruises all over John. He knew apart of him had actually liked it. He supposed enjoying it rough shouldn't come as a surprise to him, given his impulsive and childish ways. However, what he had just done to John had almost done left him feeling sick and disgusted with himself. He drew his trousers up and buttoned them in place. He then walked the few paces to John and picked him up gently and slowly walked up to his room. He set John down on the bed lightly. He stood there, staring at John a long moment, unable to find his voice.

John snuggled into the bed almost instantly, rolling onto his stomach and smearing Sherlock's sheets with the blood that had leaked through the bandage on his side. He didn't care that his boxers and pajama pants were still around his knees, all he knew was the scratches on his back felt better with air on them. He was struggling to open his mouth to speak. He wanted Sherlock next to him. He was cold. He wanted comfort. His hand reached out blindly, grasping the sheets near Sherlock.

"John, I'll be right back." Sherlock spoke softly and retreated from the bedroom. He walked to the bathroom and got a few medical supplies and towels. He walked back into the room, his arms full. He sat down on the bed, splaying the items on a pillow. He picked up a clean towel and put hydrogen peroxide on it. "This is going to sting, try not to move too much."

There was a small murmur of acknowledgement and the next moment there was medical supplies next to his pillow. Was he really in that bad of shape? He figured he was a bit beat up, that much was a given. To the point of medical care? Sherlock must have done quite a number on him. "Wha's wrong?" He opened one eye to glance at Sherlock, towel in hand, and managed a weak half-smile.

"You are bleeding all over my clean sheets." Sherlock smirked faintly. "Now let me clean your wound and re-bandage it. I'll need you to be on your back though."

"Mmm." John rolled over without a second thought and groaned in realization at how beat up he really was. "I love you, d'you know tha'?" He glanced up at Sherlock the best he could with his face buried in a pillow. "I really do." He gave a slight nod and closed his eyes, exhaling loudly through his nose. "Ready when you are." He reached a hand out and grabbed Sherlock's knee.

Sherlock wanted to say he does know, but he still had doubts. Pain staking doubt. He shoved it aside, and went about his task in silence. He removed the old bandage. As gently as possible, Sherlock wiped away the blood, the wound bubbling a little when the peroxide came in contact with it. Before adding a new bandage with healing ointment, he wiped the wound dry. Once he was done, he moved the medical supplies onto the night stand next to the bed. He then laid down next to John, snuggling lightly. His hand took John's tenderly and his head came to rest on John's shoulder gently.

John hissed as Sherlock cleaned his wounds but instantly relaxed when Sherlock took his hand. He squeezed the hand and snuggled closer to Sherlock's body. "I know you don't believe me right now." His voice was a hesitant whisper. "But I do. I love you, Sherlock Holmes." He closed his eyes and relaxed, letting his tired body drag him to sleep.

Sherlock laid awake, staring up at the ceiling. He was still coming to terms with everything that had transpired since he had gotten back home. He was trying to make sense of it all. His initial reaction had been a sharp aching feeling. Then bitter jealousy and for a fleeting moment he had wanted nothing to do with John ever again. That changed when John had started to walk away and he realized just how much he needed the other man. Then the kissing had begun and it had felt so good, he had been powerless to stop it. His emotions were in a hot mess when John had woke up in his lap and things got a little, no, _a lot_ , out of hand. On top of all this stuff going on with John, he now had the situation with Lestrade to deal with. Shit. He still had tapes to go through. He was in no shape to review them. His emotions had run him ragged. He closed his eyes, unintentionally falling asleep.

* * *

The sun was shining directly into John's eyes and he groaned in displeasure, rolling to get away from it and groaned again when his body protested to the movement. Did he get hit by a train? He opened one eye and realized suddenly that he was face-to-face with Sherlock. And then it all came back. He studied the man in front of him with a frown. He had sex with Sarah last night. Sherlock found them. Then...John lifted an arm and saw the bruises in the shape of Sherlock's fingers and winced when he felt the scratch marks sticking to the sheets below his chest and stomach. He and Sherlock... Their still holding hands, their fingers laced together, and he squeezed. He feared that he was going to lose Sherlock because he couldn't handle himself. He snuggled closer to the warm body, tucking himself under Sherlock's arm, and watched him sleep, taking in Sherlock's relaxed face.

John stirring next to him, brought Sherlock out of sleep slowly. It took a moment for his mind to get to a full state of wakefulness, but when it did his eyes finally opened. He saw John staring at him and he offered the smallest of smiles. "John…about last night. I forgive you. I think I understand now. How things just…get out of hand in a blink of an eye and before you know it things happen you wish you could undo." He was quiet for a moment and then he asked in a quiet whisper, "we're going to be okay, aren't we?"

John studied him intently, his eyes scanning Sherlock's face. "Yeah. We are. Of course we are." He leaned forward and gave Sherlock a quick kiss. He hoped they were because he was realizing that losing Sherlock was the scariest thing he could imagine. "I love you." His hands moved to unbutton Sherlock's shirt, his hand sliding across the exposed skin.

Sherlock smiled, fuller this time, eyes closed in contentment from the hand on his chest. He opened his eyes again, and turned so their gaze met. "I love you too." He then wrapped his arms around John and gave him a gentle hug. He didn't feel like doing anything today. He just wanted to stay in bed with John and be lazy. Just enjoy the other man's company.

John grinned eagerly and returned the hug the best he could, squeezing his eyes shuts as he laughed. "That's really great." He kissed Sherlock's cheek. "All I wanted to hear." He nuzzled against Sherlock neck. "I love you." It was whispered and slow and John grinned because he couldn't get enough of it. He pulled back and looked at Sherlock. "How does my neck look?" It was sore in multiple places, he knew there were several love marks, but he was curious and there wasn't a mirror around.

Sherlock smiled yet again briefly, but it twitched to a frown when John pulled away asking how his neck looked. He took in the sight of all bruises covering the body, not just the neck. "Got you good, guess I got carried away." He was unable to meet John's eyes for a moment. After a few minutes Sherlock's gaze sought out John's once more. "About last night, I really am sorry. Did you at least enjoy…any of it?" There was apart of him that was genuinely curious, because he knew that somewhere, on some level he _had_.

John was still for a moment, his mouth twisted in thought. "Yeah, a bit. Wanted to make you happy and you were." His voice dropped and he squeezed Sherlock's hand. "I just got scared when..." He cleared his throat and ended his sentence, snuggling back against Sherlock. "I wouldn't mind doing that again when I'm uninjured and more, um, y'know, prepared." A blush covered his face and he chuckled as the hand on Sherlock's chest moved to gently scratch at the skin beneath it.

Sherlock nodded a little at John's words, feeling slightly relieved about last night. As much as he didn't want to leave John's side, he forced himself out of bed. He still needed to watch the video that had by now been sent to the flat. He should have done it last night, but he had inadvertently fallen asleep. He was sure his phone would have several messages from Mycroft by now. He checked his trouser pockets, his cell phone wasn't there. It must have wound up on the floor after last night's fracas. He would look for it later and instead turned his attention upon John once more. "I have work that needs done. I will be in the living room if you need me."

John nodded and moved quickly on the bed, pushing himself to his knees and moving to balance on the edge of the mattress. He reached up and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck, pulling him in for a soft kiss. "You are fine. Stop worrying about it." His eyes closed as he pressed their foreheads together. "Now go out there and save the day, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock returned the hug gently, tilting his head down to kiss the top of John's head. It faintly occurred to him that he hadn't showered or eaten or done anything really to take care of his body in anyway, other than sleeping, since the day John had been shot. He would get around to all that other stuff eventually. He released John and left the bedroom, going to the top of the stairs to retrieve his phone. Perfect. The battery really was dead this time. He sighed and shoved it into his pocket for now. He then went downstairs to see if a delivery had been made to the door the night before.

Mrs. Hudson watched Sherlock come down the stairs and slowly stood up. "Sherlock." She grabbed a large package and handed it to him. "This was at the door this morning." She smiled warmly and jumped slightly. "Oh, and that lovely young lady left this for John." She slipped a note on top of the package before biting her bottom lip. "I don't mean to intrude, Sherlock, but are you and John alright? I heard you two fighting last night near his room..." She nervously kneaded her hands to and fro.

Sherlock smiled back at Mrs. Hudson, as he took the package. His brows furrowed at the note, and it was tempting to not read it. "Everything is okay now, thank you. This," he shook the package, "needs my immediate attention." He went back up the stairs, eyes on the note still. He resisted the urge to read it yet again. He dropped the package off by his laptop, walked back into the bedroom for a phone charger. "Sarah left this." He tossed it lightly on to the bed. Apart of him wanted to start a petty childish fight over it but before he could, he left the room. Really, his body language said it all about how he felt about the note.

John watched Sherlock with an eye roll, reaching for the note and read it over with a small smile. He placed it on Sherlock's bedside table before moving off the bed and hopping in the shower. The shower was long, massaging his sore muscles as well as the scratches that covered his chest, stomach, and back. He stopped in front of the mirror and looked at his body, wincing. There was at least eight dark purple marks on his neck, a deep bruise on his right shoulder in the shape of Sherlock's teeth. The scratches on his chest and across his abs have scabbed slightly and he assumed the ones on his back looked the same. He grabbed Sherlock's robe and boldly left it untied as he moved into the living room. "Tea, Sherlock?" He bit his bottom lip and tilted his head to the side.

Sherlock started up the laptop and while he waited, he opened the package and emptied the contents out onto the desk. He input his password, and then plugged in his cell phone to charge. He pressed the power button on the phone and opened the DVD drive to his computer, inserting one of the three discs into it. He had acquired a hacked and cracked program; much like the police would use but a little more sophisticated. This was going to be tedious and boring work and usually not something he wasted time doing. Couldn't the police or Mycroft's people go over this stuff? He sighed, not feeling up to this task at all and regretting to agree to help his older brother already and he had barely just begun. He ignored everything around him, his focus intent as he stared at the screen. He paused and rewound frequently, sometimes zooming things in and out, and other times cleared up grainy pictures. John's question barely registered and without looking up from the screen he replied, "Tea would be lovely. Biscuits as well?" He continued his intent stare at the laptop, chin resting on his knees. His feet were in the chair, one hand clicked on the mouse rapidly while the other keyed in a few commands to the computer. It was amazing anyone could possibly be comfortable sitting like that.

John paused and playfully glared at Sherlock, moving to close the robe as he turned toward the kitchen. "Sure," he muttered as he put the kettle on, rummaging through the cabinets and smiled when he successfully found a package of biscuits. He made the two cups of tea and leaned against the wall to study Sherlock. The man was sitting in the most uncomfortable position but seemed content and John smiled. That was the man he loved, he thought with a small laugh. Clicking away at a computer and looking like a small, upset child. He moved forward and set Sherlock's tea next to the laptop followed by the package of biscuits. He pressed his chest to Sherlock's back, kissing his temple before resting his chin on the other man's shoulder. "You look beautiful like this, all upset about work." He whispered and then playfully ran his tongue down the outside of Sherlock's ear.

Agitated, Sherlock jerked his head away. "Damn it John, not right now. I'm trying to work here." His voice was harsher than he intended but he didn't apologize for it. His gaze narrowed but remained resolutely fixated on the laptop. After exhausting every possibility and angle from the first disc, he ejected it from the computer. He put in the next disc and while he waited for it to load, he sipped absently at his tea. He needed to focus, so he prepared himself to ignore John who would most likely not be pleased with his actions or words.

John took several steps back and a deep breath. He wanted to shout and argue with Sherlock but he knew this was who Sherlock really was. After pausing for a moment he settled into his chair, getting up several minutes later to open the package of biscuits. He moved to the couch and finished everything off before curling tightly into Sherlock's robe before dozing off.

Sherlock once more settled into the dull routine of watching and rewatching the video. Every once in awhile, he would relinquish his grip on the mouse to dip a biscuit into the tea and nibbled thoughtfully on them for a moment before going back to incessant clicking. He finished the second disc and put in the third one. He sighed, running a hand over his face. His eyes were getting sore and tired from watching and staring at pictures on the screen of a laptop. To break the monotony he finally glanced over to John.

John smiled softly when Sherlock's eyes land on them. Words were on the tip of his tongue, he wanted to talk and ask Sherlock how it was going, but he didn't. He licked his lips and curled tighter into himself, holding his knees to his chest while Sherlock's too-long robe covered his body easily. There was a moment where he bit his lip, tilting his head slightly in questioning.

Sherlock gave the faintest of smiles in return. "John, this is boring." He groaned, his lips puckering in a pout, as he looked back over at the computer. Almost done, he just had this last disc to go through frame by frame. He resumed his intent staring but spoke once more. "Why would someone steal the body of a dead person? Some sort of emotional or sentimental attachment…yes?" Even though he was no longer looking at John, the question was obviously directed at the other man.

John furrowed his brow in thought, shrugging even though Sherlock couldn't see. "I dunno. What would you have done with me if I would have died?" He asked it softly and kept his eyes locked on Sherlock.

Sherlock glanced sharply to John, his body clearly tense at the mere contemplation of such a thing. "Assuming your sister wouldn't make the arrangements? Well, unless you had a will that said otherwise, I would have you cremated. Put your ashes in a burial urn and place it on the mantle." He looked away from John again and back to the computer screen, his posture still a bit rigid.

The question hit a soft spot, John could tell. "I wouldn't mind that," he answered with a sure nod. "Just make sure my dog tags are next to me. Or you can wear them." John stood up, tripping slightly on Sherlock's robe. There was a hesitant moment before he stood behind Sherlock and placed his hands on his shoulders, giving them a quick and comforting squeeze.

Without looking back to John, Sherlock spoke once more. "I wouldd hang your tags around the urn, so they would dangle off the ledge. I think…wearing them would be too much for me…" He trailed off with his admission. This time his body relaxed at John's touch, his head tilting to one side to rest on the other man's arm. However, his gaze remained on the screen in front of him.

"Should probably start wearing those more often." He smiled and placed a soft kiss on the crown of Sherlock's head. "Don't have to think about that for a while. I'm afraid you are stuck with me." His hands started gently massaging Sherlock's tense muscles. "So," he motioned his head at the computer screen. "Find anything?"

"The first disc is the actual abduction. The guy is clearly a professional. You never get a good look at his face, he knows where the cameras are and there is only two that catch anything anyway. The abduction was timed and coordinated, which suggests a team even though the one man is only seen. He is clearly the leader. The timing and precision suggests military training. The second disc is of our flat, also from yesterday. It has about twos hour before and after Moriarty showed. There seems to be corrupted data around the time the killer left the flat." Sherlock smirked but continued to talk. "There are different camera angles here, and about five minutes before Moriarty shows up you see a man of the same build and posture as the first disc enter the building across from ours. He has a duffel bag slung on his back. A few moments lapse and then seemingly nothing. It was hard to spot, mainly due to very good camouflage but a trained eye would know the nose of a sniper rifle when they see it. So, not only is he ex-military, he is also a sniper. I'm guessing a good one, if Moriarty hired him. After Moriarty died, I can't say why but the sniper, who I'm presuming to be this Sebastian fellow, didn't take the shot when he had a chance. Maybe he thought killing me would be too simple." He shrugged slightly. "The sniper stays in his hidden perch until after Lestrade leaves with the body. To have a team just lined up like that and ready to go? I would say it was impressive but more likely it was planned. Although, why Moriarty would plan out his own death is beyond me. However, he was clearly insane. For whatever reason, he trusts Sebastian to finish his work. This disc is actually stuff I requested from Lestrade when I was staying with him. Nothing exciting on it so far, but there is a lot of information on this one. So, that may change."

Despite the subject being discussed there was a smile across John's face. Everything he said made him feel like everything was back to normal and it was something he suddenly realized he missed. "So Lestrade was kidnapped by a group working for Moriarty. Well, a man, this Sebastian bloke, who has a group to work for him." He paused and rested his chin on Sherlock's shoulder. "Now since you have the information from Mycroft I am going to assume that he received a call and there's a ransom." He took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's torso. "So what do they want? We just trade, get Lestrade back, problem solved."

"It isn't that simple John," Sherlock replied as he hit pause on the video. He tilted his head up slightly and to one side, so he could see John. "The ransom…is you. He wants to trade you for Lestrade. Of course, that isn't going to happen. All that would result in, is you would both wind up dead. The guy who kidnapped Lestrade wasn't wearing a mask, so the Detective Inspector has seen him. There is no way, he will let him leave alive. I have a plan though, but I need to finish going through this third disc lest it holds something important. In case by some miracle Moriarty and his team have been sloppy in the past. I also want to visit the crime scenes personally. See if I can spot anything where the cameras can't see." He fell quiet for a moment as he looked at John thoughtfully. "John, promise me something? That you won't do something stupid like run off and try and exchange yourself or try to make any kind of deal with Sebastian. I know you think you would be helping but it would only make things worse." He knew just how fiercely loyal John could be and that if the other man thought it would save someone, he would sacrifice himself in the process. He supposed, that's what made John a good soldier and an even better friend. It was curious and surprising to Sherlock that John had cheated, but he shoved the thought from his mind.

John smiled as Sherlock moved slightly to look at him. He met Sherlock's gaze and listened intently. Suddenly it felt like there was a boulder on his chest. He couldn't breathe. He was the ransom? Him? John Watson? His arms involuntarily tightened around Sherlock's torso and his breaths were short and fast. Was Sherlock still talking? John had completely stopped paying attention. Sherlock's eyes were on him. He must have just asked a question. "Yeah, of course. Right." John nodded and forced a quick smile before placing a kiss on Sherlock's temple. He wanted to move desperately but he felt like his legs would give out. His body relaxed against Sherlock's and he closed his eyes. This couldn't be happening. He was just John Watson, a retired Army soldier and...something to Sherlock Holmes. He had been shot and now he was ransom for Lestrade. At what point would he be able to live in peace?

Sherlock's gaze watched John intently and for a moment he wasn't sure if John heard him at all but finally the former army doctor spoke. He was in no position to comfort the other man really and he was worried if he moved to do so John would collapse on the floor, given the amount of pressure being impressed upon his wiry frame. So, he rested his head against John's chest. One hand found John's and squeezed. The other hand reached up and over to gently stroke John's chin lightly, since it can't quite reach the other man's head given the awkward angle of things. However, once more Sherlock seemed impervious to just how uncomfortable the position should be.

John sighed at the contact, instantly returning the squeeze to Sherlock's hand. He was suddenly scared because with Lestrade kidnapped that mean Mycroft was waiting. Mycroft wanted him back...and John was apparently the only thing that could help. "Why me?" His voice was high pitched and cracked. It made John laugh because, really, could he sound more scared? "I just don't get it." His hands started to wander across Sherlock stomach, scratching lightly as he tried anything to get his mind off the situation.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at the question, as he thought the answer to be fairly obvious. "Probably to do things to you, that I don't really want to think about or discuss. The end result would be your death at some point, I am sure. Possibly videotaped and a copy sent to me. Everyone has a weakness that can be used against them John, and you are mine. Moriarty knew this and here we are."

John laughed and glanced at Sherlock. "I know, it was more rhetorical." He bit his bottom lip and slowly pushed off of Sherlock's back, swaying a little before he placed his hands on Sherlock's shoulders. "I didn't intend to become your weakness." He glanced at his feet and sighed loudly. "So, crime scene today? I imagine you'll figure out those videos and all that." It was obvious he wanted to get off the subject of the ransom. "Then maybe we could come back here, have dinner?" He paused and ran his thumb down Sherlock's neck. "Finish a few things."

"You know, I've never understood the point of a rhetorical question. If people don't expect an answer then they shouldn't bother asking it in the first place." Sherlock fell quiet after that, as he reflected. He had never thought he let himself get so close to someone either. The moment at the pool when John had a bomb strapped to him, he realized his mistake in caring. But he just couldn't bring himself to ever completely turn John away. So, here they were now. John's life was in danger because he had decided to be selfish child. Sherock snapped out of it eventually. "Crime scene? Oh right. Are you sure you would be up to going?" A mischievous smirk came across his lips. "Everyone really will talk if you go out looking like I shoved you down the stairs…"

"Wouldn't have brought it up if I weren't." John smiled and squeezed Sherlock's shoulders, moving toward his bedroom. "In case you missed it." he turned and took several steps backward, "I was wearing your robe the entire time. It was even undone when I came down asking if you wanted tea." John winked and turned to take the few stairs up to his room. John changed slowly, slipping on a dark pair of jeans and a red button up shirt, before returning to the living room. "Go shower. Change clothes. Look presentable." John situated himself on the couch with a smooth grin.

Sherlock wasn't sure if he should be relieved or worried John was coming with him. At least this way he could keep an eye on his dear doctor. "To be honest John, I didn't even notice. Too focused on the work. I' will clean up once I am done with this last disc. Could you call or text Mycroft for me? Let him know what's going on? He has left me several texts and voicemails but I really don't have the time to answer them." It was like they were falling back into their old routine again, something he hadn't realized he had missed until it was back again. A faint smirk touched his lips and hit play to watch even more grueling video coverage.

John didn't bother to reply, moving across the living room into the kitchen to grab his phone. Two text messages, Sarah and Mycroft. He glanced over at Sherlock and opened Sarah's.

_Last night was great. Hope Sherlock didn't beat you up too bad. Ice on those love bites should help them heal faster. -Sarah_

He smirked and didn't bother to reply, opening the next text.

_Any news? -MH_

John looked at the message and then up at Sherlock. "You two scare me sometimes. Really, y'do. He just texted me, Sherlock. You're linked or...or something." He shook his head and hit reply.

_Sherlock found stuff. Probably not safe to share over text. Meet at crime scene in an hour. -JW_

"Told your brother we're meeting at the scene in an hour. That's enough time for you, right?" He slipped his phone into his pocket and took several tentative steps toward the consulting detective.

"We aren't linked John. He probably just got tired of trying to get a hold of me, so the next logical thing to do was to try and get a hold of you. It was merely a coincidence he sent you a text at the same moment I asked you to contact him," Sherlock replied matter-of-factly. "Or he is spying on us, which I sometimes wonder about." He shrugged, as he didn't really care if that was true or not. "This disc has a lot of time on it. I guess I can finish it after the crime scene." He hit pause once more, noting the time stamp so he could pick up where he left off and then ejected the disc. He picked up all three discs, tossed them into a pile of miscellaneous stuff on the floor in his bedroom. He saw the note from Sarah on the nightstand. He couldn't stand it any longer and picked it up to read what it said.

_John,_

_Last night was great. Really great. I hope your side is holding up. Your a strong soldier, I'm sure you'll be fine. I know you're a thing with Sherlock but I do hope we can keep seeing each other. Who knows, I might be a bit stressed next Wednesday night. Let's get together and have dinner. I'll return the favor of last night. Don't exhaust yourself before then._

_Sarah_

John smirked and watched Sherlock walk away, moving around the kitchen to clean up a bit before walking back to the couch. He didn't even bother to realize that he had left his very personal note right next to Sherlock's bed. "Sherlock? An hour! C'mon, get in the shower!" He stood up and walked into Sherlock's room. "Don't make me get in th-" He froze, looking between Sherlock and the note in his hand. "Th-That's Sarah's note."


	21. Chapter 21

Sherlock stiffened, not from being caught but because of what the note said. He was quiet a long moment, going through different scenarios in his head depending on how he reacted. When he finally spoke, his voice was surprisingly calm. "I am not going to tell you what to do or make demands. All I ask is that you pick one. Me, her, or hell whoever you want." He didn't even wait to hear what John said, as he went to the bathroom and slammed the door shut. He had left the note discarded on the bed.

John watched him and sighed, moving to pick up the note. He studied it again, glanced at the bathroom door and quickly crumbled it in his hands. It was a simple choice, really, because Sherlock was more than just an easy shag for stressful situations. Sherlock was his flatmate...the person he was in love with. He threw the note into the trash. He knew he shouldn't be hurt, Sherlock was the one who had been cheated on, but he was boiling about the fact that Sherlock would even think that John would pick somebody over him. He stomped over to door and threw it open, his hands instantly tangling in Sherlock's hair as he roughly met his lips. He needed to prove to Sherlock that he was the one.

Sherlock had slumped against the door after he closed it, finally letting the emotions overtake him. When John opened the door, it slammed against his head. He turned, slightly dazed, but managed to stay sure footed. He was only vaguely aware of the rough kiss upon his lips. His mind was still trying to process what had happened, his lanky form leaning on John for support so he didn't topple into a heap on the floor.

John hadn't expected Sherlock's weight leaning on him and stumbled back a few steps, the door slamming shut as his back hit it. He grunted into Sherlock's mouth before his tongue pressed forward and attacked Sherlock's mouth. His hands yanked once against Sherlock's curls as John pulled away. "It is always you," he whispered against Sherlock's lips. "Don't ever forget that." A smile curled his lips and his head motioned toward the shower. "Now clean yourself up or I will do it for you."

Finally Sherlock's mind caught up to the situation and he stared at John quietly. There was so much he wanted to say but decided not to. He sighed, turning away without a word. He started the water, so it would be warm by the time he got in. He then took off all his clothes, not feeling shy at all even though John was in the room with him.

John watched wearily, shifting on his feet and running a hand through his hair. "I love you. Y'know that? I do." He closed his eyes for a long moment, opening them and running his eyes down Sherlock's body. "What do you want me to do to prove it to you?" He ended his sentence with a shout, taking several steps forward to get closer to Sherlock and get his attention.

With another sigh Sherlock turned back to John. "Fine. Cut off all ties with Sarah. Never see or speak to her again. Otherwise, I will always wonder John." He rubbed absently at his head, where the door had smacked him as he became aware of a dull throbbing. There would probably be a knot there later.

"Fine. I will. If that's what will keep you with me then I will do it." John started to remove his clothes, smirking at Sherlock as he climbed into the shower. "Now let me make it up to you." He grinned from under the spray of the water in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"You know what's stupid? Even if you continued it, I don't think I would ever be able to walk away. I need you too much, John." Sherlock looked away after speaking because anytime he admitted any real feelings he felt awkward about it. It had been a struggle for him to admit any of it and a part of him hated himself for needing John so much. What had happened to that arrogant genius that had relied on no one not so long ago? He was still standing outside the shower, unable to bring himself to enter it at the moment.

The grin disappeared and John stepped out of the shower. "Sherlock..." He reached out and grabbed his hand, reaching up to rest his free hand on Sherlock's cheek. "It isn't going to happen again. I hurt you and I don't think I could handle seeing you like that ever again." He stood on his toes and gently met his lips. "I'm yours. All yours." He pressed his body against Sherlock's and kissed him again.

Sherlock squeezed the hand and turned to look at John. His body shivered; he wasn't sure if it was from the cold or from their bodies being so close together. He surrendered to the kiss immediately, eyes closing and wrapping his arms around John in a gentle hug. He held on, unwilling to let the moment go by too quickly.

John grinned against Sherlock's lips and let his hands wander to cup his ass. He had to stand on his toes to deepen the kiss, pressing their bodies together. "Get in the shower." He nipped at Sherlock's bottom lip and tugged at his hand.

Sherlock moaned softly from John grabbing his ass, another shiver passing through his body that obviously wasn't from the cold this time. He reluctantly allowed John to pull him to the shower, as he would have rather just stood there holding the other man close to him. He stood there letting the hot water pour over him. He really wasn't sure what to do next. Was this just a shower or was something more expected?

John looked up at Sherlock and smiled, reaching around to grab Sherlock's shampoo. "Calm down, it is just a shower." He paused and placed an open mouthed kiss on Sherlock's chest. "I'm saving your energy for tonight." He poured some of the shampoo in the palm of his hand and gently pulled Sherlock's head down so he could gently massage the shampoo in his hair. "So just relax and enjoy it. I am making you nice and clean." He grinned. "And take it in, I do believe this is the first time you have seen me naked."

Sherlock complied with John's movements, eyes closing from his head being massaged. He opened them, because it occurred to him that John's naked body hadn't even really registered in his mind. "Physical appearance has never really held the appeal to me that it does for most people. However, looking at you now I think I may be able to start appreciating it a little more."

John grinned and lifted Sherlock's head, pushing it gently under the water. "My body isn't anything special. It's beat up. I have got unsightly scars." He wiggled his left shoulder. "It's nothing like yours." He reached behind Sherlock to grab the bar of soap, slowly running it up Sherlock's lean stomach. "You're perfect," he whispered and met Sherlock's gaze.

Once more, Sherlock moved compliantly. "Aren't scars supposed to…what's that they say…sexy?" He smirked and then shrugged. "Is it? I've never really noticed." He glanced down at himself, watching as John lathered him up and he smiled. "Tickles a little," he admitted and then rippled his stomach for emphasis.

"Oh you've noticed, you are doing that on purpose!" John laughed and gently smacked Sherlock's stomach. He ran the soap up his chest and kept his gaze locked on Sherlock's eyes as he pressed their bodies together to run the soap across Sherlock's back. "Nothing about me is sexy, especially my scars. Nice try though." He gently sucked on Sherlock's neck as he continued to lather his back with soap.

Sherlock rested his chin on John's head when their bodies came close together. "Never realized how little you thought of your appearance. Quite surprising considering how many women ogle at you and flirt with you. There must be something attractive about you? " He fell quiet a moment before speaking again. "Like your smile. I like it. Though I guess that's not really a physical attribute. Hmmm…" He thought some more for a moment. "If I had to pick your best feature, I would go with your eyes. Very expressive."

John glanced up slightly. "It's just, oh I don't know." He took a deep breath and shifted slightly to set the soap down. "I take care of myself but I feel like that is just part of who I am." His arms tensed and he wrapped them around Sherlock's waist. He smiled and placed several kisses on Sherlock's collarbone. "And women don't ogle me." His abs tensed against Sherlock and he boldly licked the water running down Sherlock's neck. "I love your mouth," John admitted softly. "And that little smirk you get when you solve a crime."

"Yes they do. To prove it, I will point out every woman staring at you when we go out today." Sherlock seemed content to just stand there close to John as the hot water ran over them both. "My mouth? Really? Hmmm…interesting…" He trailed off, arms coming to wrap around John in a hug.

"You really don't need to do that. Honestly." John smirked but it quickly disappeared at Sherlock's comment. "Why is it interesting? You have a nice mouth. In the past few days I have also discovered how great your mouth is at kissing." He moved a hand to Sherlock's hair, moving his head to gently meet his lips once more.

"It is interesting because it wasn't what I was expecting and certainly not what most people would probably say." Sherlock tilted his head down so John doesn't have to reach so far and returned the kiss tenderly. He kept his arms wrapped around the other man, his fingers running lightly up and down John's back.

John moaned into the kiss, shivering at Sherlock's touch despite the warm water surrounding them. His hips pressed once into Sherlock's softly as he bit at Sherlock's bottom lip. "What would most people probably say?" He whispered with a mischievous grin. His hand ran across Sherlock's waist softly.

Sherlock's hips reacted immediately, pressing back into John's. "Well, based on the gossip that the women don't think I hear I would say my cheekbones or eyes." He shrugged. "I've never paid that close attention to their mindless prattle, it gets in the way of my thinking." One hand moved up to John's head, where he scratched lightly right where the hairline began at the base of the neck. The other hand trailed along John's spine.

"Wanted to save this for tonight," John whispered idly as he reached between them to lightly run a finger down Sherlock's penis. "If we don't stop this now we are going to be late." He glanced up at Sherlock and nudged his jaw with his nose. "Except I have this problem where I can't keep my hands off of you."

Sherlock let out a small whimper of desire, his lower torso grinding into John's from the light touch. He smirked at what the other man said but somehow found self control. "Mycroft gets grumpy if kept waiting and when he is grumpy he's annoying." He smirked again, giving a quick kiss on John's nose before getting out of the shower.

"Your brother would ruin my chance at shagging you in the shower." John watched Sherlock leave the shower before shutting the water off. "Even took a second shower just for you!" He stumbled out of the shower with a laugh and grabbed a towel, quickly running it through his hair before drying himself off. "Go put some clean clothes on. We are burning these." He kicked the dirty clothes before grabbing his boxers and slipping them on.

"Well it is important," Sherlock reminded John and dried off quickly. "No need to burn them. I was planning on giving them back." He walked out of the bathroom and got dressed in his usual attire. It was nice to be in clean clothes again actually. He glanced in the mirror at the very faint stubble on his face. No time to shave. He hated having facial hair, it was itchy. He went out to the living room, grabbed the knife stuck on the mantle above the fireplace. "John, bring your gun. Never know." He opened a drawer in the computer desk and took out a small sheath and strapped it to his ankle and then put the knife in place. "Ready when you are, my dear doctor."

John hurriedly finished dressing, slipping on his black coat as he followed Sherlock into the living room. He turned to his chair and dug in between the cushion and the arm rest, grabbing his gun and stuffing it between his back and the waistband of jeans. The back of his jacket dropped and effectively covered it. "We are already going to be a few minutes late, our little row didn't help things." He smirked and grabbed Sherlock's hand as he headed toward the stairs. "C'mon, let's go solve a crime."

Sherlock followed after John and once outside hailed a taxi. He gave the cabbie the address. He held onto John's hand on the way over, but he was busy thinking about the case so he didn't speak. When the cab stopped, he paid and got out. He glanced over to Mycroft, who was already there, a disapproving look on his face. Sherlock smirked a hello to his older brother and then began investigating the scene.

John was respectfully quiet for the entire trip but let go of Sherlock's hand when they stepped out of the cab. His eyes moved instantly to Mycroft and he moved to stand beside him. That smirk made John lower his head, as a blush spread across his cheeks.

"Eight minutes late, Sherlock," Mycroft shouted toward his younger brother before he eyed John. "What did you find on the tapes?" He gripped his umbrella tightly.

Sherlock waved a dismissive hand at his older brother. He was investigating the pavement and took a few pictures with his camera phone. "John can fill you in." He finally spoke, but kept his eyes on the ground. "The Yard already been here to clean up?" His lips were puckered together thoughtfully, but still stared intently at the scene.

John opened and closed his mouth several times, glancing over at Mycroft and sighed when Sherlock spoke before John had to explain everything. He had suddenly forgotten everything and his mind was still locked on Sherlock standing before him in the shower.

"Yes, they did. They are working non-stop on this case obviously. They haven't found much." Mycroft glanced over at John.

"Oh, um...yes. It was a group. Specialized. Good. They work for Moriarty an-" John jumped as a gunshot echoed through the street, tackling Mycroft to the ground without hesitation. "Sherlock! Get down!" Another gunshot, this one closer to John and Mycroft. John ignored the pain in his body and pulled Mycroft safely behind a car, pulling his gun out and glancing around the surrounding buildings.

Sherlock crouched low, using a parked car for cover. He should have seen this coming. The shower with John had distracted him. He sighed at himself but regrouped quickly. He viewed the city in his mind and having paid close attention to the sniper in the videos and the trajectory of the shots gave away the location of the shooter to Sherlock. For a few moments he considered running to where the sniper was, but he didn't want to split up. It could end up to be a tactical disaster. Sebastian's team was bound to be close by and waiting for their opening. "John, are either of you hit? We need to stay together behind cover and wait this out until the police show up." He shouted so he could be heard over the gunshots. He decided to break cover, and ran over to where John and Mycroft were. Not the smartest idea, but he was hoping to draw the fire of the sniper. Better to have the shooter fixated on him than on John.

John watched with wide eyes as Sherlock ran toward them, wincing at the sound of every gunshot. Was he really that much of an idiot? The shots were fired nearly non-stop and John watched as one tore through the end of Sherlock's coat that was waving wildly behind him. "Are you stupid? Are you really that stupid?" He pulled Sherlock into a quick kiss the moment he was close enough, his eyes searching the other man's face frantically. "He about got you, Sherlock! Got the end of your bloody coat." He took several deep breaths and looked over at Mycroft who was pressed tightly against the car and already on his cell phone. He gripped his gun tighter and glanced at Sherlock. "You know where he is." He paused and shifted slightly. "Tell me." John wiggled his fingers around his gun, his eyes wide and his chest moving rapidly. It reminded him of the war and suddenly his adrenaline was going. His pupils were dilated and there was a bit of a smile tugging at his lips.

Sherlock merely smirked, and then shrugged at John's rebuke. "Of course I know where he is. Given the rapid onslaught of the bullets, it is an automatic sniper rifle and not a bolt action. Little more room for error with an automatic but it let's off more bullets per second than a bolt action. Actually, if he had a bolt action he probably would have succeeded in hitting me. There aren't many automatic sniper rifles, usually an American thing but that doesn't necessarily mean our shooter is a Yankee. I have counted eight rounds used. Most automatic rifles have ten in magazine but sometimes twenty. Anyway, he is to the south of us. The sun will be in your eyes, an advantage for him. He is five buildings away, eighth floor, third window in from our left. Doubtful you will be able hit anything from here though. The only way you would be able to hit him, is if we split up and that's not happening. Our best chance of making it out of this is sitting and waiting, much to your disappointment I am sure." He finally finished speaking, another smirk twisted upon his lips.

John narrowed his eyes. It was a risk, he knew it was and he hesitated before he spoke. "He wants me, Sherlock. I can get up there." He glanced back and lifted a hand to cover his eyes, searching for the window and finally locating it. "It won't be splitting up if you stay here with Mycroft, it'll be me giving him the ransom. I can make sure Lestrade gets out and I can shoot him. The police showing up is just going to put Lestrade in more danger, we both know that." He met Sherlock's gaze and took a deep breath. He reached down the front of his shirt and pulled his dog tags over his neck, shoving them into Sherlock's hand. "What's the best way to get in?"

The smirk quickly disappeared as he found John's dog tags thrust into his hands. "No! You _aren't_ going in alone. You think he brought Lestrade with him? That would be really stupid of them, so it is unlikely. Moriarty may be dead, but he's still pulling the strings." He closed his eyes, fingers gripping the dog tags in his hands tightly while he thought a moment. "Look, if you want this to work then all three of need to work together and you need to do _exactly_ what I say." His eyes finally opened, and he looked first to John and then Mycroft expectantly.

John glanced back at Mycroft, who nodded hesitantly. "Fine. But you two can't go in that building." He looked back at Sherlock. "I am the only one with a gun, I can't send two unarmed people into a building. It would be ridiculous." He shrugged a bit because while Sherlock may be the smartest of the three he knew that he was the only one that had been in a similar situation. "W-We can go in and try to overpower him, take him as a hostage instead and demand Lestrade for a trade. It could work." He winced and ducked his head as the pain in his side made itself apparent.

Sherlock frowned at John worriedly for a moment, considering backing out of the plan briefly. Before he could talk himself out of it, he took out his knife and shoved it onto Mycroft's hands, much the same way John had just shoved the dog tags into his own hands. "There he isn't unarmed now. I will be fine without a weapon. Mycroft, you aren't to let John out of your sight for one second." He fixed his older brother with gaze that said more than the words he had actually spoken. "Now, when the sniper runs out of bullets and pauses to reload, you are both going to need to sprint due south from here and don't stop running until you are at the eighth building. There is an alley between building seven and eight. There will be a fire exit; it has probably already been broken into by the sniper. Wait for me there for no more than two minutes. If I don't make it, go in without me. That makes me the decoy!" He gave a cocky wink and before either of them could argue or stop him, he took off running. Once more he drew the fire of the sniper, John's dog tags still clutched tightly in his hands as he ducked and weaved and staying as low as one could while running swiftly.

It all happened so fast that John didn't have a moment to think. He heard the chain of his dog tags clinking against itself as Sherlock bolted and suddenly his legs were moving. Mycroft was behind him, his long legs helping him keep up. Running to the eighth building should have been quite the task but John slid to a stop in front of the fire exit and had to shake his head to realize where he was. His heart was beating so loud he could hear the blood rushing in his ears, his mouth wide open as he turned to glance at Mycroft. Now they waited. John's gut twisted and his hand readjusted on his gun. Mycroft was glancing around nervously, returning his gaze straight to John and studying his body.

"You are in pain," Mycroft stated softly.

"No, 'M fine." John shook his head, not bothering to glance at the older Holmes brother and instead keeping his eyes locked on the other side of the alley.

As soon as the gun fire had stopped, Sherlock arched around and back tracked. He wouldn't be able to keep up the sprint much longer. He was breathing hard, mostly though his nose. Bullets were once more raining down all around him. Should have used the bolt action, he thought absently to himself. He was almost home free, when a searing pain ripped through his shoulder. He ended up stumbling the rest of the way to alley and almost bowled right into Mycroft. He had just enough time to shift his momentum and slumped into the wall instead. He pressed his hand to his shoulder, wincing a bit. "I will be fine. Clean through and through. Nothing lethal. It will just hurt a lot later. Shall we gentlemen?" Despite the pain and panting for breath, he had a crooked smirk on his face.

John watched Sherlock intently and rushed forward, putting the gun in the front of his pants against his stomach. "Sherlock!" He looked up at him, pulling his hand away and instantly applying pressure with both his hands. Mycroft stood back and looked around before rushing forward.

"We need to get something on that," Mycroft muttered as he glanced around the alley.

John's gaze stayed locked on Sherlock before he yanked the knife out of Mycroft's hand. He put it between his teeth as he started to pull Sherlock's jacket away from the wound, ripping the shirt from the bullet hole before stepping back. He pulled the knife from his mouth and gave a fatherly-stare to the other man. "Don't move until I tell you to," he growled defensively. John yanked up his button-up shirt, revealing his white undershirt which he quickly cut into three long strips. He shoved the knife into Mycroft's hand and pressed his body against Sherlock's to keep him still. "This is going to hurt." He grabbed Sherlock's hand and moved it to his own waist. "Squeeze so you won't get tense over here." He placed a quick kiss on Sherlock's cheek before taking one long strip and folding it twice, placing it on the front of the wound, doing the same with a second strip. He pressed against them for a moment before taking the third strip and tying it around Sherlock's arm, tying it on top of his shoulder. "What am I doing now? You're not going anywhere, and you," he looked at Mycroft, "You are staying with him."

Sherlock grunted and squeezed as directed, but made no other indication of the pain he was feeling when John bandaged his shoulder. "I will be fine. I got shot in the shoulder, not a vital organ. If you aren't going in, then I am." He smirked again, leaned up off the wall and moved to brush past John and Mycroft. His one hand still clung to the dog tags and he wound them around his hand so they would stop jingling to help in their stealth mission.

John kept his eyes locked on the dog tags for a moment, a small smile on his lips before he moved forward. "Sherlock, I can do it from here. You have seen my shot before. Trust me." He grabbed Sherlock's hand, looking down when he felt the metal of his dog tags against his skin. "Tell me what to do. The best route to get him. I don't want you getting hurt. You'll still be helping and I know what I'm doing." He pulled away from Sherlock's hand to shed his jacket, tossing it at Mycroft, before grabbing his gun again. "I'll be fine."

"John, you aren't going in alone. We don't have time to stand out here and argue. The Yard will be here soon and we will lose our chance. So, we either all go in or none of us do," Sherlock replied resolutely, his eyes locking on John. "Go in without me, I'll just follow you in. Even with my wounded shoulder, pretty sure I can still over my brother if you try and stick me alone with him." That ever present smirk returned yet again.

John returned the smirk and glanced at Mycroft. "Alright, but stay behind me when you get in." He glanced at the dog tags one more time before slipping his gun into the waist band of his pants, turning and jumping to grasp the fire escape. He grunted slightly before pulling himself up and quietly getting his footing. Eighth floor. He looked up and then into one of the windows. "It would be better to enter the building on the sixth floor. We'll enter the room he's in with his back to us." He looked down at Sherlock, nodded, and silently started his way up the fire escape. He paused at the window to the sixth floor, glancing in before pulling the window open and climbing in. He stood with his back against the wall and waited for Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded and smirked briefly at Mycroft before jumping and grabbing the ladder to the fire exit. He winced from the pull on his shoulder but didn't utter a single verbal complaint. He followed up after John, fingers still clinging tightly to the dog tags to the point his knuckles were white. It helped to take the focus off his throbbing shoulder. That and it could be used as an improvised weapon for either punching and in a pinch he could undo it and use it more like a whip. Once Mycroft was up, Sherlock tilted his head to the window to indicate he was ready to keep going.

There was a pause of movement for John to glance around the area before he moved out of the room, his gun up in preparation. He glanced down either side of the hallway he entered before turning right and making his way up the staircase. He stopped several times when the stairs creaked beneath his weight, his eyes closing and his chest suddenly stiff as he held his breath. The moment he made it on to the eighth floor he glanced back at Sherlock, holding one hand out to stop him. He shook his head and took several steps toward the slightly open door of the room where the shooter should be. He stopped and lowered his head to listen, glancing back at Sherlock the moment he heard the sound of a gun being packed and put away.

Sherlock followed after John alertly, as he in took every little sound. He stopped when John did, feeling a bit anxious. Was it him or was this too easy? He had expected something before now. He glanced back at Mycroft and raised his eyebrows, a frown forming on his lips. He then looked back up to John. He put his good hand, the one with dog tags in them, on John's shoulder to get his attention. He shook his head and glanced at the room, while holding up one finger. Once they passed the threshold, there would be no turning back from whatever awaited them on the other side. It could either be a trap or they really had the element of surprise here. There was no real way to know for sure. If it was a trap, he didn't want John going in first.

John bit his bottom lip, pausing for a few moments before taking several steps forward. He winked at Sherlock as confidently as he could, standing up completely and rushing into the room with his gun raised. "Don't move! Don't move or I'll shoot!" The man jumped and whipped around, surprised, and instantly held his hands up. It was Sebastian, John could tell from Sherlock's grainy footage earlier. He glared at John as he stepped forward, kicking the gun away and pressing the gun to Sebastian's chest. He glanced out the door for a moment before meeting the taller man's gaze and jabbing the gun roughly into his sternum. "You know what we want." Except the man didn't speak, he kept the same emotionless face and his cold gaze on John.

Sherlock rushed in after John and his gaze roved all over the room to see if there were any nasty surprises to be found. He didn't see anything immediate, but that didn't mean anything. His body was tense, as he continued to look around. He didn't even bother looking at Sebastian. "He won't talk John. Not even under torture I imagine. We already took away the only thing he probably ever cared about, so he has nothing left we can threaten him with. Although, I am sure Mycroft wouldn't mind having his people take him into custody anyway. If we caught him, we can find the rest of the team. One of them will be easier to crack then wasting our time on this guy." He walked over to the rifle and picked it up. "Should have used the bolt action. You would have hit and killed me the first time I ran. John probably would have run to me, you could have gotten him too. Mycroft would have had the sense to stay put. But you don't really care about him. Next time, think it through a little better." He continued his sweep of the room, rifle at the ready just in case.

John winced at Sherlock's words, shooting him a quick glare before grabbing the front of Sebastian's shirt and shoving him against the nearest wall. That was when a sickening smile tugged at Sebastian's lips and John's stomach sank. He pressed the gun against Sebastian's throat before turning around. "Sh-Sherlock.." The words struggled to come out of his suddenly dry throat. A man had entered the room smoothly and instantly put a gun to the back of Sherlock's skull.

"That rifle is empty," Sebastian commented with a bored tone before, smirking at John. "So now you've got quite the decision to make." Mycroft was marched into the room to stand beside Sherlock, a gun pointed at him as well. "You can kill me and get the Holmes brothers murdered." He shrugged. "Or you can figure out where your darling Inspector is which would result in your death and the brothers being freed. Your choice, Doctor Watson."

John moved his fingers against the gun, glancing at Sherlock and Mycroft calmly before pulling the gun away from Sebastian and placing it against the bottom of his jaw with practiced ease. "Tell me now. Where is Lestrade? You say it and I will pull the trigger and then Sherlock rescues him. That's the deal."


	22. Chapter 22

Damn it. It had been too easy. Sherlock's eyes narrowed at John's words, his mind working furiously to resolve the situation before things became irreversible. He couldn't let John die. It should be him. This had been his entire fault to begin with; he should be the one to pay the price. "You aren't going to let him get away with that, are you Mycroft?" His voice was calm, but he gripped the empty rifle in his hand tightly, his shoulder throbbing and the metal of John's dog tags digging into his skin. He ignored both, and then turned abruptly to hit the person holding the gun in the head. The man behind him pulled the trigger but for whatever reason, the gun malfunctioned. The butt of the rifle smacked the man in the skull and it cracked revealing some brain matter. The lifeless body crumpled to the floor.

At the same moment, Mycroft had disarmed the person holding the gun on him and now possessed the gun himself. Just like when watching the movies, when the hero did the old switch-a-roo when the bad guy had a gun pointed at them point blank. He shot the other man in the knee, since they would need at least one of them alive. It wasn't often he got his hands dirty, but just because he was a Government Suit didn't mean he didn't know a trick or two.

John watched for a moment before jumping into action, shooting at Sebastian's knee. He placed his foot on Sebastian's chest before looking at Sherlock and examining his body for any more injuries.

Mycroft took several steps back to glance out the window, smiling when police sirens could be heard.

The police were upstairs in no time and Mycroft somehow managed to usher John and Sherlock out of the madness before leaving them alone. "Oh, God, Sherlock are you alright?" He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's body, hands tangling into his jacket.

Everything else just kind of shuffled by for Sherlock, as the sudden adrenal rush wore off. He collapsed into John's hug, returning it weakly. He could feel the blood seeping through the bandages and his shirt. Good thing he was wearing his coat, so John couldn't worry about him. He leaned his head on John's shoulder, his eyes closing and his body went completely lax as he passed out due to a combination of lack of food for several days and the minor blood loss. His body was incapable of keeping his system running, so it had shut down on him.

"Sherlock?" John moved his head slightly and tightened his hold on Sherlock's body. He took a deep breath and slowly lowered Sherlock to the ground, looking out the door. "I need help!" His voice cracked with worry as he checked Sherlock's pulse before hesitantly pulling away Sherlock's jacket, grimacing when he noticed how bad Sherlock was bleeding. He suddenly felt hands on his shoulders and heard Mycroft saying something as he was pulled to his feet. He watched Sherlock get put on a stretcher and turned to Mycroft weakly.

John didn't remember much, all he knew was now he was sitting by Sherlock's hospital bed, holding his hand, and thinking about how the nurse had bandaged his shoulder wrong. He finally rested his head, as his thumb ran over Sherlock's knuckles.

Sherlock was unconscious for many hours. There was an I-V hooked up to him, pumping fluids and nutrients into his body but it took awhile for his body to repair the damage. He groaned as he slowly came awake. He was confused and disoriented. The drugs to dull the pain in his shoulder made his mind foggy and he found it difficult to focus. That and he wasn't used to the florescent lights beating down on him harshly, causing him to squint. It took a moment, to register that John was there and holding his hand. "...John...?" His voice was rough and he trailed off with a cough.

John lifted his head instantly, his eyes wide and searching Sherlock's face. "Sherlock." He squeezed his hand and smiled softly. "Don't talk, you are dehydrated. They have you hooked up though, you should be good soon." He lifted his free hand to rest on Sherlock's stomach. "You passed out at the scene. Turns out getting shot, not eating for a few days and then running around isn't a good idea." He lifted Sherlock's hand to his mouth and gave it a quick kiss.

Sherlock smirked a little. "Seemed like…" He coughed a bit but then croaked out the rest of the sentence, "…a good idea at the time…" He gave a weak squeeze to John's hand in return. "When can I leave?" He managed to get out a whole sentence without coughing. He was sick and tired of hospitals. His release couldn't be soon enough.

"In the morning." John smiled a bit and glanced out the door. "Which is disappointing because I was going to shag you tonight." He smirked. Leave it to Sherlock to get shot in the shoulder and be near-starving and only be focused on leaving the hospital. "It's two-thirty in the morning if you want to go back to bed. I will still be here when you wake up."

Sherlock groaned at the thought. "You know, technically it is morning. Can't I just leave now? I am fine. I feel better. See, I'm not coughing. I'll sign a waiver, if that's what it takes." He shouldn't be so tired. He had slept more in the last couple days than he probably had all year. It was probably the drugs. His eyes closed and he drifted back into a slumber before he had a chance to fight it.

John watched Sherlock fall back asleep and rested his head on the bed next to Sherlock's hip. He kept his hand laced with Sherlock's. "You idiot genius," he muttered as his other hand drew shapes lazily on Sherlock's stomach. He forced himself to stay awake in case Sherlock would wake up and need anything.

Sherlock's body was still healing and the drugs he was being given, had him sleeping until day light had finally broken. He mumbled incoherently, as he woke up once more. He stretched his body as well as he could for his current position. He looked over to John and checked to see if he was still awake, before speaking. "Is it time to leave yet?" His voice was a borderline pleading whine.

"If you want to." John grinned and stood up, hesitantly letting go of Sherlock's hand as he walked around the bed to inspect his shoulder. "How does it feel? I'm going to be taking care of you now." He laughed softy and ran his hand softly through Sherlock's hair. "I was so scared yesterday." His voice was soft and he didn't meet Sherlock's gaze as he nervously cleared his throat.

"Yes, now. I want to leave now." Sherlock smiled at John. "I'm fine. Nothing to worry about now my dear doctor." He sat up and pulled the I-V out of his arm quickly. He winced from the sudden pain and then got out of the hospital bed. He shivered, his barely clothed body exposed to the air surrounding him. He looked around the room for the bag that held his clothes so he could change.

"Sherlock!" John put his knee on the bed and reached across it, grabbing the bed sheet and pressed it against his arm. "Good Lord, we have got to get your nurse in here." He yanked at Sherlock's hand before standing up and walking across the room. He grabbed the white bag and tossed it at Sherlock. "Get dressed slowly, standing up too fast might make you pass out." He opened the door and found the nurse who giggled excitedly when he touched her shoulder, something John only realized after Sherlock pointed it out to him yesterday. He grimaced and motioned back into the room. She merely nodded and had John sign a few papers before he entered the room again. "Alright, I'm ready to go when you are. And when we get home you are going straight to your bed. I have had your sheets washed so my blood isn't on them anymore, and I'll make you some food."

Sherlock was dressed by the time John came back in the room. "I am fine, really. Nothing to worry about. I don't need more sleep. For God's sake, if I get any more I won't sleep the rest of the year." His lips puckered into a pout.

"I never said you have to sleep, Sherlock." John sat in the chair beside the bed and slowly slipped his shoes on. "But you will be relaxing and I'm not arguing with you about it." He quickly tied his shoes and stood up. "Don't act like a child today," he said as he rested a hand gently on Sherlock's upper arm before standing on his toes and gently kissing him. "I love you," he muttered as he kissed Sherlock again.

Sherlock was powerless when it came to John's kisses and found himself unable to argue with the former army doctor. He returned the kiss, arms automatically enveloping the other man in a hug. "I love you too," he murmured as he nipped lightly on John's lower lip.

John effortlessly deepened the kiss, pulling Sherlock's hips against his own as his tongue wandered aimlessly around his mouth. He finally pulled away and swallowed hard, licking his lips. "I was supposed to save that for when we got back to the flat." He grinned and reached one hand around to squeeze Sherlock's ass.

Sherlock smirked and raised his eyebrows. "Why wait?" Before he could entice John further, a nurse came in giggling to check up on Sherlock. She left, giggling and eying John. That pretty much broke the mood for Sherlock as he glared at the nurse the entire time.

John was about to reply that the hospital wasn't that private when the nurse walked in. He politely smiled before turning back to Sherlock. "Oh, quit sulking." He kissed Sherlock's cheek before giving him a tight hug. "I didn't do anything and I think she's just like that on a normal basis." He pulled away from Sherlock's embrace and grabbed all of the papers he would need. "Let's get you home so I can snog you in peace."

Before, Sherlock hadn't really cared about other women lusting after John. After the nurse and Sarah, he couldn't help but feel threatened by every woman the other man came in contact with. Even a little insecurity? Definitely a sense of trepidation. He sighed internally at himself. He hated all these stupid emotions that came with being in a relationship with John. It was dizzying and downright confusing most of the time. Would he ever understand the emotional responses? He had become so lost in his thoughts, he had momentarily forgotten about leaving the hospital.

John opened the door and walked into the hall, lost in his own thoughts about how he would balance caring for Sherlock and wanting to rip his clothes off. He froze for a moment when he realized Sherlock wasn't behind him. "Uh, Sherlock?" He moved back in front of the door with a look of confusion on his face, tilting his head to the side. "C'mon, we're leaving. Aren't you ready?"

Sherlock blinked and focused in on John when spoken to. He nodded in answer to the question and followed John out the door. "Mycroft find Lestrade yet?" He asked casually, trying to play it off as curiosity rather than concern.

"Not yet. We have been texting back and forth all morning...he is worried." John reached out and grabbed Sherlock's hand, lacing their fingers together. "You killed one, Sebastian and the other are still in the hospital. Technically they can't be interrogated until they're healed. They are looking, though." He walked calmly out of the hospital and hailed a taxi, waiting for it to come to the curb. "Do you think he's still alive?"

Sherlock paused and looked back to the hospital, his eyes narrowing and staring at it darkly. "John…go on to the flat without me. I'll be home later." Without waiting for a reply, he walked back into the building. He eyed the nurse's station, as he tried to think of way to distract them long enough so he could get into the computers and look up where the man Mycroft had shot was located.

"Sher-" John stood outside the hospital and watched him go back in, sighing and taking several steps back toward the building. He really couldn't let Sherlock wander off. He could pass out again or get himself in serious trouble. He glanced back at the taxi before waving it off and following Sherlock, coming up behind him. "I'll distract them, as much as you will hate it." He rested his hand on Sherlock's lower back and met his gaze. "There's a lab down the hall, second door on the right." He flashed Sherlock a half grin before walking up to the nurse's station and casually leaning against it. The two nurses at the station instantly looked his way as he started up a conversation.

Sherlock smirked to himself as John walked off. Well, maybe the other man's allure to woman wouldn't be a total wash. He waited a moment, to ensure the nurses were enraptured by John's conversation before slipping off to the lab. Luckily, the lab was empty. It didn't take long to find the information he was looking for. He left quickly and returned to where John was with the nurses. He tried not to let it bother him but it did. He would need John to distract the nurses on the fifth floor, something he wasn't looking forward to. He walked passed John, making sure his lanky form would be in the former army doctor's visage as he strolled to the lift and hit the up button.

John let out a quick laugh before patting the flat surface in front of him. "This has been wonderful, ladies, do enjoy the rest of your day." He smiled warmly and turned on his heels to catch up with Sherlock. The moment he was beside the other man he grabbed his hand. "So? Find what you needed?" He smirked and watched the lift doors open, tugging Sherlock's hand as he walked in. "I'm going to assume you'll need me again since you made it so obvious you were going to the lift." He stood on his toes and nipped at Sherlock's ear. "I love you," he whispered to try and calm him down.

Sherlock pulled away from the contact slightly, once inside. He kept his tone as mild he could,  "John, not now. I need to focus. Yes, I found what I needed and yes I will need your flirtatious ways once more." He turned to look at John. "I love you too." He gave a small but genuine smile. The doors slid open and he stepped out onto the fifth floor.

John slipped his hand from Sherlock's and stepped slowly off the lift, taking a deep breath and brushing past Sherlock. Four nurses. He took a deep breath and walked slowly toward the nurse's station, glancing back at Sherlock as he pulled his dog tags from inside his shirt. He had grabbed them from Sherlock's hands as he had been loaded into the ambulance. "Good afternoon, ladies!" John placed one hand on the counter, drumming his fingers as all four turned their attention to him. He quickly struck up conversation, one nurse asking about his dog tags with a flirty smile so he could easily jump into a story.

It amazed Sherlock how John captured the nurses interest so quickly. Though he couldn't say he blamed them, because he was often encapsulated by the doctor himself. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching him before slipping into the room he desired access to. He closed the door behind him quietly, and then slid a chair under the door knob. The man in the room was in a drugged induced sleep, good. He walked over to the heart monitor and turned it off. He then placed a hand over the man's mouth and with his other hand, jammed his thumb into the wounded kneed through the bandages and stitches roughly. "Tell me where the Detective Inspector is, or things are going to get very unpleasant for you." Sherlock hissed the words, his eyes narrowed into tiny and dangerous slits. "I am quite adept at torture. It's basic anatomy really, but there are worse things I could do to you, far beyond any physical pain. That's just basic psychology. With enough time and the right stressors, a person can be completely reprogrammed like a computer. So consider that before you answer my question. Now, nod if you understand."

The man shouted into Sherlock's hand, his fingers clutching desperately at the sheets beneath him. He took several deep breaths, his eyes wide as he searched Sherlock's face. He narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth, his teeth clamping down as hard as they could in the flesh of Sherlock's palm. He was breathing heavily and shook his head. "Fuck you," he replied the best he could with his mouth covered.

Sherlock had anticipated the bite and was ready when it happened. He grimaced but held his hand tightly in place anyway. "That's a shame, for you anyway." A nasty smirk crossed his lips. He dug another finger into the wound with his thumb, tearing it open further. "Last chance or the next time we meet will be much, much worse. It isn't an empty threat. I'm sure my brother can arrange for you to be placed into the government custody and you and I will have a lovely chat all alone." He smirked again, eyes gleaming darkly.

The man screamed again, his hands grabbing at Sherlock's arm and trying to get a good grip to remove it. He shook his head swiftly, his eyes closed tightly. He wasn't going to tell. Sebastian would find a way to kill him if he did. "No," he muttered weakly against Sherlock's hand. "Can't," he added quickly and moved one hand to push against Sherlock's chest in an attempt to get him further away. "You keep doing this and he will get your little doctor." The other pawed at the hand over his mouth weakly, scratching at the bite mark.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed even further as he ignored the feeble attempts of the man below him. "Trust me, death will be a Godsend by the time we next meet." He crammed another finger into the wound roughly and then left the room. Christ, his hand hurt more than it should have after being bitten and scratched. There were more important things to worry about like John. He looked to the nurses' station, to reassure himself John was there and okay. His hand wiped the other man's blood off onto his coat absently.


	23. Chapter 23

John glanced at Sherlock with his brows furrowed, his gaze faltering when one of the nurses tugged at his dog tags to read them. He braced both of his hands on the counter and looked at the young woman in front of him. After a moment of her inspection, he politely bowed his head, laughing softly and taking several steps back as he glanced back to Sherlock. He didn't wait for the consulting detective and went straight for the lift, absently stuffing his dog tags back inside his shirt.

Relief flooded through Sherlock and he practically ran to catch up with John. When the doors opened, he pulled John with him into it. The doors slid closed and he embraced him in a tight and needy hug.

John let out a small 'hmpf' as Sherlock pulled him forward, looking up at him before wrapping his arms around Sherlock's torso. "I'm fine," he whispered into Sherlock's chest, a hand rubbing his lower back soothingly. "You're fine. We'll figure it out." He stood on his toes and briefly met Sherlock's lips, smiling weakly. "Let's get you home. You can relax and I can make you tea and snuggle with you."

Sherlock released John from the hug. The pain in his hand was becoming annoying and he looked down at it to inspect the wound. "Probably going to need a tetanus shot." He smirked a bit, still wiping blood from his other hand onto his coat. As the doors opened once more, he stepped out, pulled his cell phone out and sent a text to Mycroft.

 

_Assuming you don't already, keep eyes on the man you shot in the knee. Make sure it's someone you trust personally and have them there in person. We only caught part of the team and they may try to silence the man. Lestrade is still alive. There would be no reason for the other man to fear Sebastian and telling me the location if the Detective Inspector wasn't. I can use the fear against him, but he needs to leave the hospital alive. Something I'm sure even your people can manage. I still have video footage to go through, maybe that will reveal something. Let me know when you have the man in custody. Unless you prefer your people handle questioning him. Whichever. –SH_

Experimentally he moved his fingers on his wounded hand. It was also very itchy.

John waited patiently for Sherlock to finish his text before grabbing his hand. "Cleaned, at least. I'll do it when we get back to the flat." He studied Sherlock's hand intently before meeting his gaze. His shoulders relaxed instantly. He was ready to be back at the flat relaxing.

Mycroft read the text multiple times before replying, his eyes narrowed. He aggressively pressed the keys.

 

_He's being discharged in two days. I'll make sure he's ready for you. I'll text you the address when he's there. Rest. -MH_

John glanced back at Sherlock when he heard his phone go off again, raising his arm in the air and hailing a taxi. "Well? Ready to go home and be dreadfully boring for a bit?"

Sherlock looked down at John. "I still have to finish going over that last disc, if that's okay with my Doctor?" He cocked an eyebrow, a smirk on his lips yet again. He grabbed John's hand and held onto it lightly as they waited for a cab.

"I guess but after that it is bed rest for the remainder of the day." John smiled and squeezed Sherlock's hand as a taxi pulled to the curb. "And then it's nothing but tea and maybe, just maybe, we can cuddle on the couch watching crap telly." He opened the door, grinning from ear to ear as he entered the taxi. "What do you think?"

Sherlock got in the cab after John. "If you are going to make me watch the telly, do me a favor and drug my tea so I pass out before hand." He smirked yet again and finally checked his phone and read the text Mycroft had sent. His smirk got bigger, as he could practically hear his older brother's annoyance in the short message. He shoved the phone back into his pocket without replying and leaned his head onto John's shoulder.

John couldn't help but smirk as he lifted his arm and wrapped it around Sherlock's shoulder. "Look at that," he whispered as he kissed the top of Sherlock's head. "You being submissive."

Sherlock snorted but smirked anyway. "Yeah, well don't get used to it." The cab ride didn't take long and when it stopped, he paid and got out. Going through more camera footage wasn't really appealing but he wanted to get it out of the way sooner, rather than later. He shrugged to himself and headed into the flat.

John followed Sherlock into the flat, setting the information from the hospital on the kitchen table. "See you in a few, then?" He slipped his jacket off and hung it up. For a moment he hung back and just stared at Sherlock, smiling tightly before heading into Sherlock's room. He took his button-up shirt and undershirt off slowly, grabbing everything he needed to start cleaning his side.

Sherlock followed John into the bedroom, because that's where the disc he would need was located. He stopped over the pile of stuff it was located in and glanced over to the other man. "I can clean the wound for you first?" He asked, as he absently itched at the bite on his hand, turning it red with irritation.

John jumped slightly, whipping around and taking a deep breath. "Oh, Sher-" He moved a hand over his heart and laughed softly. "Yeah. Right. Sure." He nodded and walked toward Sherlock, using his free hand to grab Sherlock's own. "Then I'll clean this for you." He looked up to meet his gaze. "And then I'll check on your shoulder."

Sherlock arched a brow at John's skittish behavior but didn't comment on it. He had forgotten about his shoulder, until John had mentioned it. His shoulder had actually been throbbing since he had interrogated and tortured the man in the hospital bed. He had just pointedly ignored the pain until now. He was certain he had popped a few of the stitches because of how he had to stretch his body so he could keep the man's mouth covered while inflicting the maximum amount of pain on the opposite end of the body. He went back to ignoring the pain and set about the task of cleaning and dressing John's wound instead.

John tensed slightly and lifted one arm, grasping his wrist with his other hand to keep it up. He watched Sherlock's hands with interest and exhaled loudly through his nose several times before lifting his head. Good Lord, how was he keeping his hands off of Sherlock right now? He leaned forward hesitantly. This probably wasn't a good idea but John had suddenly lost all reason to care. He placed a soft kiss on Sherlock's cheek, pulling away slightly before doing it again.

Sherlock finished just as John kissed him on the cheek. He smiled and gently pushed the smaller man toward the bed and leaned into him, so that he would be on top should John lay down on the bed with his advances toward him.

John grinned and moved his hands slowly around Sherlock's neck, taking several steps back and falling on to the bed. He moved to suck at Sherlock's neck and eagerly wrapped his legs around Sherlock's waist. One hand moved swiftly, tangling in Sherlock's hair and gently tugging so he could get better access to Sherlock's neck. His teeth were rough on his skin, determined to mark Sherlock once and show him what it was like. His feet moved against Sherlock's back as John managed to kick his shoes off, digging his bare heels into Sherlock's lower back.

Sherlock leaned forward, and knelt on the bed. He used his elbows and knees to help prop him against the bed for some support so he could hold them both up without worrying about crushing John below him. It was stressful on his shoulder but once more he ignored it. It was actually rather easy to do, because John was doing an excellent job at being a distraction. He growled at the biting, his hips grinding anxiously against John's already.

John took several deep breaths as he pulled away from Sherlock's neck, moaning loudly as he felt Sherlock's hips against his own. "Relax," he panted and met Sherlock's gaze before starting to unbutton Sherlock's shirt. "'M fine, really." He kissed Sherlock sloppily, lifting his hips in a slow response. "Get off your shoulder." He managed a stern gaze despite his wide pupils and flushed face.

"I'm fine, really." Sherlock mimicked with a slight smirk. He hoped to distract John the way the doctor easily distracted him. He moved his head down and began to nibble on the other man's ear. If memory served correctly, John had enjoyed his's tongue upon it. So, his tongue ran along the edge of the ear, and then ran along inside of it. His lower body still squirmed against John's, and his breathing became heavy. He swallowed once and then bit John's ear lightly, his tongue once more exploring the length of the ear.

"Fuck..." John arched his back to press against Sherlock, his hands momentarily frozen as he struggled to take a deep breath. The moment he managed to think straight his hands moved swiftly against Sherlock's shirt, unbuttoning it with ease. "You've got to..." He paused and yanked at the shirt, "Relax, now. Get this off." His voice was rough and his hips were bucking against the warmth above him without his consent.

Sherlock shifted some, so his shirt would come off with ease. He lowered himself toward John, so his forearms supported him on the bed now which gave some relief to the pulsating pain in his shoulder, although it only registered as a dull throb. His body was too overwhelmed with feeling other things to pay heed to the abuse his shoulder had taken so shortly after having surgery on it. He began kissing John's neck next, eagerly, as his body continued to rock into the man below him.

"Are we actually going to do this?" John asked softly as he ran his fingernails down Sherlock's bare back. "I swear if we get interrupted now..." He kept pressing into Sherlock's hips, moving to bite on his collarbone as he moaned. "P-Pants." His hands scratched around Sherlock's side and settled at the front of his pants. A soft and mischievous grin spread across his lips and he ran a finger lightly down the front of Sherlock's pants, only stopping when his own body got in the way.

For a brief moment Sherlock thought John had wanted to stop and hesitated with showering biting kisses all along John's neck. It soon became apparent that the other man wanted this just as much as he did when John ran his fingers along his trousers. He whimpered from the touch, his lower torso pressing into John's persistently now. He resumed kissing, once more working his way up to John's ear and nibbled on it.

John grabbed Sherlock's hips roughly and met his gaze. "Calm down," he whispered into Sherlock's ear, moving his hands to undo the button and zipper of Sherlock's pants. "You need to stay calm or we won't get very far." He slid his hands in between Sherlock's skin and underwear, slowly working them down his thighs. He cupped Sherlock's ass as he nudged his ear with his nose, turning his head to gently meet Sherlock's lips. His hips lazily arched up against Sherlock and he grinned into the kiss.

Sherlock muttered an apology. He was having trouble controlling himself right now. He wasn't really sure why he was so anxious for this to happen, just that he was and his body pretty much did all the commanding while his brain fought to keep up with his actions. His body shivered from John's touch and with effort managed not to collapse on the smaller man below him. He returned the kiss, trying to be mindful of the whole slowing down thing so instead of hungrily shoving his tongue into John's mouth he settled for nibbling on it instead. His body shivered once more in ecstasy, barely able to withstand the suspense of it all.

John pulled away from the kiss reluctantly, moving his hands between them to tug at his belt. His hands moved with practiced ease and the belt slid off effortlessly. The first moment of hesitation started when he met Sherlock's gaze. "Sherlock." He nipped at Sherlock's bottom lip. "I think I want you to fuck me." He swallowed hard and kissed Sherlock roughly, letting his tongue explore Sherlock's mouth without abandon.

Sherlock was getting confused and frustrated. Slow down. No, let's fuck. He couldn't very well do both. He was beginning to get grumpy and he wasn't sure why. He was in no mood to talk so he bit at John's neck roughly with a growl. Maybe he was just irritated at his shoulder for its persistent throbbing. It was really hard for him to tell. His body writhed into John's, his hands finally busying themselves on the other man's pants.

John let out a small yelp of pain, shifting one hand to run down Sherlock's chest. He ran it across Sherlock's shoulder and grimaced when it came back warm and wet. "Ah, Sher-" He paused and involuntarily arched into his hands. "Shoulder," he muttered, dropping his hand and smearing the blood on the bed sheets. "You alright?" He was gasping for air and the question didn't sound as professional as it should but with Sherlock on top of him and moving like he was, it was difficult to do much else.

Agitatedly, Sherlock ignored John's words and worked to no avail to undo John's pants. For some reason his fingers just wouldn't work properly. Another shiver wracked his body, but this time it didn't stop and it shook his whole frame. Weird. He didn't feel chilled. If anything he felt warm, well hot. Before he had time to react, he fell over sideways to the right and landed on the bed. He continued to shiver as he tried to figure out what was happening. Drug withdrawal? He hadn't done any hard drugs in almost a year and the withdrawal process had been similar. But so soon and after only a few doses of whatever strong medication the hospital had given? Maybe his body was having some weird chemical reaction. Or maybe his shoulder had gotten infected and it had spread quickly to his system through his blood stream. Or maybe the guy he had tortured had somehow poisoned him. Or maybe…his thought process became too muddled to keep thinking of possible scenarios. With effort he focused on John and he attempted to speak, but all that came out was a discord of incoherent noises. Maybe if he took a nap, he would wake up and feel better. He let his eyes drift closed.

John had closed his eyes, letting Sherlock take control before he suddenly felt the weight above him shift. His legs twisted as Sherlock moved. "Sherlock?" He sat up quickly, panting. "Sherlock!" He untangled his legs from around Sherlock's body and watched him close his eyes. "No, Sherlock, wake up." He grabbed Sherlock's head and tilted it up, worriedly as he eyed the other man's features. Shit. "C'mon Sherlock, open your eyes. Do this for me." He leaned over Sherlock and fumbled for the man's jacket, grabbing his cell phone and sending a quick text to Mycroft. "Hey. Sherlock. Look at me. Now." He gently smacked Sherlock's cheek several times. "Your brother is on his way, we're taking you back to the hospital, okay? Nod for me, please. You are going to be fine." The last part barely made it from John's throat and he suddenly realized how Sherlock must have felt when he got shot.

Sherlock pawed at the hand smacking his cheek with a groan and his eyes opened slowly. He stared up at John with an unfocused gaze. He tried to concentrate on the words spoken to him but it was difficult. He slurred out a sentence that could barely pass off as intelligible. "mmmfine…jusneedsweep…"

"Nope. No you don't." John tossed the phone somewhere on the bed and moved quickly on his knees to situate himself behind Sherlock. He shifted to sit against the headboard before hoisting Sherlock to sit up and relax against him. "Please stay awake, Sherlock. Talk to me." He took a deep breath and ran a hand up and down Sherlock's bare side soothingly. "Tell me why you quit drugs, anything. You've got to stay awake."

Sherlock tried once more to focus on John's words. He was quiet a moment, trying to force his mind to think but everything was so fuzzy it was difficult. He tilted his head up slightly, eyes also rolling upward so he could look up at John's face. "Did for you." He finally managed to say something resembling a full sentence. "mmmcold…" His words slurred together once more and he struggled to snuggle closer to John for warmth. It hadn't even occurred to him that just moments before he had been very warm.

John froze and watched Sherlock for a moment before he realized the other man was cold. He tilted to the side slightly and pulled Sherlock's heavy blanket over them both. "Tell me about growing up. Tell me about your childhood, Sherlock." He wrapped his arms tightly around Sherlock's small frame and pulled him close. Why was it taking so long for Mycroft to show up? He knew calling Sherlock's brother would be smart. He could tell John for sure what happened, but John had a sickly feeling in the pit of his stomach that Sherlock was poisoned by that damn bite mark on his hand.

"Dun feel gud Jawn," Sherlock muttered into John's chest and despite the blanket now covering him, his body continued to shiver, rather violently now. "If…I don't make it…help Mycroft find Lestrade…" He had a short lived moment of coherency and clarity, before his body went lax and his eyes shut once more, as he slipped into unconsciousness.

John shook his head frantically and suddenly he couldn't do anything except shake Sherlock and shout his name. He vaguely remembered Mycroft entering the room and pulling him away from Sherlock. He remembered fighting, screaming, and even remembered tears running down his face as Mycroft explained everything. Sherlock was going to a rather secret hospital for treatment. John collapsed against Mycroft and thanked him repeatedly for practically being the British government. By the time Mycroft had John dressed, Sherlock was getting medical treatment but Mycroft didn't tell him exactly what was being done.

The next time everything was clear and moving at a normal speed, John was sitting in a disgustingly comfortable chair in a rather posh looking hospital room. He was groggy, sleepy, no doubt from the look Mycroft cast in his direction. Sherlock wasn't back yet but he was assured he should be back in the room soon. John didn't speak, keeping his eyes trained on the floor, impatient and vacant.


	24. Chapter 24

Sherlock was dreaming or maybe he was dying, he wasn't really sure which. It was dark. He felt disembodied. There was no sound or anything to see really. He simply just _was_. Kind of like a sentient being just floating in outer space. All he had was his thoughts in this dark and empty place. His thoughts consisted mostly of John and all their adventures together. Most of them had been heart pounding and near death's experience from one or the other. However, there had also been times that were so amazing and lovely. Sherlock allowed himself to think only of these and he frolicked around in his mind palace with John without a care. It was safe and nice here; he didn't ever want to leave it.

The doctor finally wheeled Sherlock into the room with John and Mycroft. The man laying on the table was still unconscious and he had a machine hooked up to him to breathe for him. The doctor looked at the men in the room. "Sherlock was poisoned. We were able to extract all the poison but it did extensive damage to his organs, his liver in particular. With surgery and antibiotics we were able to repair that damage as well. We thought he would have woken up an hour or so afterward and when he didn't, we did an exploratory surgery. We didn't find anything else wrong. There is no medical reason he is still unconscious." The doctor gave a small shrug. "I have seen it before. Some people don't want to come back after being so close to death. Really, it's up to Sherlock now. All we can do is sit and wait. I'm sorry."

John was vacant, watching Sherlock's chest with a blank look. No. This wasn't happening. He didn't fight through everything to just sit and watch Sherlock die because some git obviously hadn't learned the 'no biting' rule in primary school. He watched the doctor for a moment before standing, swaying a bit before he managed to get his balance and walk slowly toward the bed. They had so many things left to do. Lestrade was still out there somewhere waiting to be rescued. John met Mycroft's gaze for a quick second before grabbing Sherlock's hand, falling to his knees and resting his head on the mattress beside Sherlock's hip. He didn't speak, just squeezed Sherlock's hand and closed his eyes.

Sherlock was lost in his mind, just beyond reality. He was laughing and talking with John. Nothing could go wrong here. No one could ever hurt them here. They could live here forever in happiness. It was so tempting, to stay and watch John smile all day. However, there was this tug at him to leave this place and then for some reason he heard Mycroft's voice but he couldn't see his older brother.

"Don't be an idiot. John needs you."

Sherlock looked at the imaginary John in front of him and he reached out a hand to hold the other's for comfort. Just as their hands were about to touch, he had the sense of falling. His mind reeled back into reality and he awoke with a start. If there hadn't been a tube down his throat, he would have awoken with a hellacious scream.

John jumped and immediately looked at Sherlock, jumping to his feet and abandoning Sherlock's hand. "Calm down. Shhh." He placed a soothing hand on Sherlock's forehead and took a deep breath, reassuring himself that this was real and that Sherlock was actually awake. "Deep breaths through your nose. I'm going to ask you a few questions and you just nod 'yes' or 'no' for me, alright?" Suddenly John wasn't Sherlock's friend, he was a doctor who worked extremely well under pressure and was worried about making sure his patient was alright. "Do you think you could breathe on your own without the breathing tube?"

Panic wasn't something that gripped Sherlock, but it did when he first awoke and the heart monitor he was hooked up beeped rapidly and loudly as his heart raced. He was confused and disoriented. He didn't know where he was and for a moment he didn't understand why he wasn't able to form words. His gaze focused on John finally and it had an almost instantaneous calming effect on him and the heart monitor finally died down. He nodded his head yes, once his mind had finally calmed down enough to process the question asked of him.

"Right." John pulled away from Sherlock and unplugged the breathing machine, much to the chagrin of the nurse who had entered the room. John looked at her for a moment before moving back to Sherlock and placing a gentle hand on his cheek. "You are probably going to gag a bit and this isn't going to be comfortable but you need to stay calm, alright?" He bit his bottom lip and slowly pulled the tube from Sherlock's throat, looking up only when Sherlock's doctor burst into the room. "Sherlock, do you hurt anywhere? Move your head 'yes' or 'no' and if you do, point where."

The doctor was about to try and stop John, but Mycroft held up a hand and shook his head.

Sherlock exhaled deeply when the tube was removed and he fell into a fit of coughing, as he fought for control of his breathing. After awhile the coughing died and his gaze fixated on John once more. "I am fine," he rasped out with some difficulty, so he said no more afterward for a few moments. "What happened?" He coughed a few more times, swallowing deeply in hopes of moistening his dry throat. He reached out his hand, to take John's and his eyes closed in thought, as he tried to remember what happened but everything was still pretty fuzzy for him right now.

John winced as Sherlock coughed but visibly relaxed when Sherlock managed to catch his breath and even talk. When Sherlock asked what had been happening, though, John blushed and suddenly wished a hole would open up in the ground and swallow him. There was no way he was going to tell Sherlock that they had practically been ready to fuck each other with Mycroft, a doctor and a nurse in the room. "You were heading back into the living room to look at some things involving Lestrade," he lied smoothly, a tight smile on his lips. "I heard you fall and managed to get you back into...your bed and..." He swallowed and nodded, squeezing Sherlock's hand. "You were poisoned."

Sherlock opened his eyes when John began speaking. Poisoned? He rubbed his head with his free hand as he fought to remember. He had a major memory gap, as he didn't even remember entering the flat. The last thing he had recalled was sending a text to Mycroft after getting out of the elevator with John and how his hand had itched. Everything past that was a foggy haze. He struggled to sit up in the bed, wincing a bit at the pain in his side from where he had been opened up for surgery. "When can I go home?"

"No, Sherlock, don't sit up." John placed his hand gently on Sherlock's chest and applied a little bit of pressure. "You're going to be here for a while, Sherlock. They did two surgeries and you are extremely weak right now. Don't worry about it, alright? I need you to relax." He took a deep breath and glanced around the room. "Do you think we could have a moment alone please?" He bit his bottom lip gently and watched as everybody left the room. After a moment John relaxed and closed his eyes. "You don't remember anything?" He asked softly.

Sherlock let himself be pushed back down on the bed, as he was in no real position to resist the pressure. Two surgeries? Bloody fantastic. He shook his head at John's question. "Last I remember, we were at the hospital. I had just sent Mycroft a text. My hand was itchy. Should have known then what had happened. When he scratched at the bite was how it must of happened. They were probably expecting me to interrogate him." He sighed but a slow smirk twitched on his lips. "I could tell that you lied about finding me in the living room, so I'm sure I can guess."

John smiled ruefully and tilted his just a fraction with a breathy laugh. "Yes. Well...right..." He bit his bottom lip to keep himself from laughing. "Yes. We were..." He cleared his throat and gave one sure nod. "It was certainly promising to be a good time. I've just got this odd feeling that we're never going to actually shag each other." A laugh finally escaped his chest and he squeezed Sherlock's hand. "The best you are ever going to get, apparently, is that hand job on the couch." The conversation was light and much better than focusing on the fact that he had almost lost Sherlock.

The smirk on Sherlock's lips broadened. "Quite the pair now, aren't we? Who's supposed to take care of who now?" He gave a rueful laugh but it was cut short by the pain it caused in his chest and side. "Where are we? This isn't exactly your run of the mill hospital based on the cozy setting around me." He closed his eyes, ignoring the increasing pain he was feeling as the drugs wore off. He was also getting sleepy but he didn't want to sleep. He hated sleeping. It was a waste of time, though given his present situation he really wasn't in much of a position to do much else. He opened his eyes, to help keep himself awake just a little bit longer.

"Honestly?" John looked around for a moment and shrugged. "I don't really know. Everything kind of happened faster than I remember." He hesitantly pulled away from Sherlock's hand and moved to push the rather comfortable chair right next to the bed. "Do you want me to up you pain meds?" He motioned his head toward the I-V with a raised brow. "Or I could tell you stories. I've got a few of those, too." He reached out and grabbed Sherlock's hand again, his other arm folding on top of the bed so he could rest his chin on it.

"Ah. Mycroft's doing then," Sherlock remarked absently. "No. I would rather go without the drugs as long as possible." His eyes closed again, body a bit tense but he continued speaking, "once an addict, always an addict. You have enough going on, that you don't need to be worrying over whether or not the medication I am on is for medicinal purposes or not. I will be fine." His body relaxed as he snuggled against the covers. "Story sounds nice," he muttered right before drifting off to sleep.

The words out of Sherlock's mouth jarred John slightly and long after he was asleep John just stared at him. While it certainly wasn't hard to believe that Sherlock had been an addict at some point, it was a difficult subject for John to wrap his thoughts around. He didn't sleep. John suddenly felt protective of the man lying before him and his gaze barely moved from Sherlock's relaxed face. He had heard stories that, even in their sleep, people could hear others talking to them, so he slowly started his story. "So I was in this town, Khush-i-Nakhud," he placed a soft kiss on Sherlock's hand, "and we were just doing a routine patrol..." He abruptly fell silent when Mycroft entered the room, settling once again for keeping his eyes locked on Sherlock.

Sherlock only slept for a couple of hours because the pain had become so intense it forced him awake. He let out a hiss of pain, his eyes squeezing tighter still. He regained his composure and opened his eyes, though his body remained tense. He hated for John to see him like this. Pathetic. Weak. Vulnerable. None of which were something he would use to describe himself on any other day.

"It's your side, isn't it?" John knew it was a stupid question to ask but he figured he should double-check. "Sherlock, I know your not too fond of the drugs but right now I think they are your best option." He bit his bottom lip until it turned white. "Talk to me, Sherlock. Tell me a story. How did you meet Lestrade?"

Sherlock merely nodded with gritted teeth to the question and also to the consent of being given drugs. His eyes close again, as he thought back to the first time he had met the Detective Inspector. He had known Lestrade what five, maybe six years now? An exact date didn't stick out to him but he remembered the first case they worked together on. It didn't take long for the drugs to take effect, since they were being pumped directly into his vein and his body relaxed a little and his eyes opened once more. "He wasn't a Detective Inspector when we met. He got the promotion soon after though, for his exemplary work on solving tough cases." He gave a slight smirk. He didn't care that he didn't get the recognition; it wasn't why he had become a consulting detective.

John laughed out loud, his grin wide at the thought. "That's fantastic." He took a deep breath and lifted Sherlock's hand to his lips. "Can you do me a favor?" The question sounded weak, hopeless. "Can y-you please not die?" He looked away from Sherlock and cleared his throat. "I don't even want to go through that again. Don't think I would be able to."

"Everyone dies sometime John, I can't promise that. I can promise that I'll be okay and I'm not going anywhere in the near foreseeable future." Sherlock leaned forward and reached out his hand and gently tugged at John's dog tags to get him to look at him, as it was the only thing really within his grasp to get the other man to look at him. "My dear doctor, I'm not going anywhere right now. You can't worry about things that may or may not happen. Well, you can but you shouldn't." He offered a small reassuring smile, his eyes never leaving John's.

Nobody in the world would have believed John Watson if he had said that Sherlock Holmes was capable of an emotional little speech. John glanced down at the hand holding his dog tags and let a warm smile take over his lips. "I love you," he whispered as he glanced back up at Sherlock. He stood from the chair to move closer to Sherlock, meeting his lips gently. The kiss was soft and slow and John pulled away nervously. "Di-You held these even after you passed out last time," he muttered, jerking his neck a little. "Why?"

Things were getting very emotional right now and while Sherlock could handle it when he was with John, he found himself getting uncomfortable with his brother there and hearing all this. He did return the kiss though, murmuring that he loved John in return behind it. He thought about the question and then shrugged. He regretted it because even with the pain medication it still hurt to pull slightly at the stitches along his sternum. "Comfort, I guess." He paused, cleared his throat and then added, "your dog tags are a representation of who you are. It's you symbolically and I guess I just needed to hold onto you tightly anyway I could." He shifted, his discomfort clearly showing. He wondered why sharing made him feel so awkward, maybe because he just wasn't used to it. There weren't many people who got to see this side of him.

John fell back into the chair, careful to make sure the chain didn't yank at his neck. He smiled and glanced back at Mycroft who slowly stood, rolled his eyes, and left the room. "What are we going to do about Lestrade? You're hurt, we can't exactly..." He paused and licked his lips, shrugging. "You can't exactly go to try and find him." His eyes lit up a bit at the idea of finding the Detective Inspector. "Do we have any idea where he might be?"

Sherlock smirked a bit as Mycroft left. "You'd think bearing my soul to my boyfriend was an imposition on my older brother. Admittedly, I would have preferred it  just been us…but…you should know, for just in case." He fell silent and grew thoughtful, his brows furrowing together. Another reason he had wanted to hold off on using drugs was because it would decrease his mental capacity. So, he thought longer and harder than usual. "To be honest, I hadn't planned on going anywhere to look for Lestrade. Our best bet is through the guy who bit me. I'd have to look at his background information to know for sure on how to use his fear against Sebastian against him, but I'm usually spot on about those kinds of things." He paused to smirk before going on, "if you want possible results sooner, I'd need to go through that last disc to see if it revealed anything. That's hit or miss though, not a sure thing like Sebastian's thug."

That bloody smirk could get John to do nearly anything. "I..." He glanced around and nodded. "I could get you your laptop and that disk." He squeezed Sherlock's hand and took a deep breath before speaking again. "I could talk to Sebastian." The comment was quiet but held confidence. "It would be quicker than the thug. I know where he is." His head bobbed back and forth a few times. "We could do this all tomorrow, of course. You need to rest. But it could work."

"I highly doubt Sebastian will give you the information, less than a one percent chance. The man doesn't fear death and no amount of physical torture would work on a man like that. Eventually, you would be able to break him down psychologically but that would take more time the Detective Inspector has. I'd say Lestrade has three maybe five days top, depending upon on his stamina and own will to live. Trying to talk to Sebastian would be a waste of time in my opinion but I'm not really in any condition to stop you so…" He trailed off and almost shrugged but thought better of it.

"Sherlock...I know Sebastian," John blurted out quickly. His face scrunched slightly before he spoke again. "We were at the same base in Afghanistan, sometimes worked together on patrol." He suddenly struggled to meet Sherlock's gaze. "That's why I didn't shoot him...Why he didn't shoot me." He blinked several times and lifted his head, stretching his neck. "I think I can get him to talk because I know things, Sherlock. I...I can make him talk."

Sherlock fell out of the bed from shock. He landed on the ground roughly, wincing from the sharp pain in his side as all the wires attached to him tugged at him while the equipment was either pulled forward or toppled over. There weren't very many things that caught the consulting detective off guard, but John's words had literally floored him. Despite his discomfort in a crumpled heap he found his voice, "why didn't you say something sooner? For God's sake, you don't keep information like that to yourself."

John jumped up almost immediately, dropping to his knees on the floor. "Sherlock!" He watched the nurse run into the room to straighten up the equipment while John went about comforting Sherlock the best he could. He needed to avoid the question of why he hadn't said anything sooner. "Are you alright? Sherlock, can you stand up?" He watched Sherlock's doctor come into the room with several other nurses. "They are going to help you back into your bed, alright?" He backed up as the male nurses helped pick Sherlock up off the floor, placing him back on the bed before making sure all the wires were where they needed to be. The room cleared soon after but John didn't move, keeping his back pressed against the wall opposite of Sherlock's bed.

Sherlock grumbled as so many people fussed over him but there wasn't a lot he could do about it so he just let the staff do their job. His gaze found John after a brief search of the room. "Well? Are you going to tell me what you are hiding? Don't try denying it, it's rather obvious. You'd make a terrible poker player, well at least against me." The faintest of smirks touched his lips, but his eyes were a different story. They showed the pain he was feeling, at yet another betrayal from John. Although this betrayal had been a lie of omission and not cheating. He struggled for control and so far, kept the feelings in check.

"Shit happens in a war," John stated calmly, standing straight with his hands clasped behind his back. "Sebastian's command was on patrol and radio came in that they were under fire. He called it in." He paused and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "We responded, flew in under heavy fire. I was moving toward a young kid, he was screaming... He'd been shot right in the stomach..." He cleared his throat. "So I went to grab him and suddenly Sebastian was there. He just...shot him. And then he saw me." John finally looked up and met Sherlock's gaze. "And I didn't report him. Sherlock, the heavy fire was Sebastian. He killed his men. I watched him. We took the bodies back, reported them as killed by the Taliban, and Sebastian didn't get punished. Turning him in for that is a two-way street. I'll get charged for the cover-up."

For Sherlock, morals were in the grey area at best and he was in no position to pass judgement on anyone. "I still don't understand why you didn't tell me sooner. A lot of this could have been avoided if I ha know beforehand. But it was easy to cheat on me, so I guess keeping vital information really wasn't that far of stretch for you." There went any control he had, as he took the path of destruction with his childish ways.

John tensed right away, his lips pressing together in a thin line. "I've got some things to take care of." He moved across the room and grabbed his jacket, roughly slipping it on and leaving the room.

Mycroft slowly entered the room with a knowing shake of his head, falling into the chair John had previously occupied. "He is going to talk to Sebastian right now," he said while typing away idly on his phone.

Sherlock turned his back to the door as soon John left, ignoring the pain it caused as best he could. He heard Mycroft's words but didn't reply. Instead he closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. He didn't feel like talking to anyone right now. Sleep found him after about a half hour of him not speaking or moving at all. It wasn't a restful sleep though, as he had gone to sleep stressed out and upset. His sleep was plagued with all kinds of different nightmares. They didn't wake him and his body tossed and turned as he groaned and whimpered at the images in his mind.

Mycroft watched Sherlock worriedly but kept himself still.

John stalked out of the hospital room and then the building itselft. He calmly caught a cab to the hospital and easily discovered Sebastian's room, entering with a true military stance. "Sebastian." He shut the door with his back, looking at the man in front of him with a cold stare. "Been a long time since Afghanistan."

"Captain John Hamish Watson." Sebastian Moran glared at the man in his room. "I heard your genius flatmate suddenly fell ill. Tell me, how is he?" His eyes flashed dangerously and a nasty smile played upon his lips.

John smoothly licked his lips and narrowed his eyes. "Where is Detective Inspector Lestrade?" He could not talk about Sherlock. This was not the time to be personal at all. "It seems he's gone missing." He moved toward the hospital bed and patted Sebastian's injured knee. "And I would rather like him back."

Sebastian smirked, knowing full well he hit a nerve by talking about Sherlock. It quickly disappeared as his wounded knee was patted, but he refrained from yelping in pain. Instead he glared daggers at his tormentor. "Inspector Lestrade? You mean that grey haired detective in the Yard who relies on Sherlock to solve all his cases? I'm not really sure. A man that stupid probably got himself killed already."

"I am fairly sure you want him alive, Moran." John squeezed Sebastian's knee and shifted his head slightly. "We both know that I have information that could get us both in serious trouble. I'm not scared anymore Sebastian. I'm here to get Lestrade." His hand lazily ripped at the bandages and found purchase in his stitches. "Or I can rip these out. One by one."

Sebastian grimaced but laughed through the pain. "Oh Johnny-Boy. I am already on the hook for a lot of other charges right now. I go to jail either way, one more won't matter. You want to be cell mates? That's fine. I wonder how Sherlock will handle that. Maybe he will go back to using drugs and in a drug induced depression kill himself. I'm sure my boss would quite enjoy that. So go ahead John, tell. That miserable flatmate of yours deserves worse than death and I am sure losing his precious pet, will do just that."

How John managed to keep calm was beyond him. He shrugged, glanced at Sebastian's knee, and roughly pulled one stitch from the skin. "Here's the funny thing about that, actually. If I were to turn you in you wouldn't just be going to jail. They'll send you off somewhere, probably secretly kill you for all we know." His fingers moved deftly to the next stitch. "And I guess I forgot to mention? I know people. Lots of people, actually, and I won't be going to jail. My choice to not turn you in? Justifiable, you were pointing a gun at me the entire time, Seb. And Afghanistan? I hear it drives some Army doctors to the brink." He pulled out another stitch from his knee with a smirk.

This time Sebastian wasn't able to hold back from screaming at the pain from his knee. His body tensed and he gripped the side of the bed tightly out of reflex. When the searing pain ebbed slightly he glared at John. He would never give up the Detective Inspector's location and had actually anticipated the arrival of John. He gave a low signal with his hand to the window on the other side of the room. What was about to happen next, was not something he was expecting.

A single, soundless shot burst through the glass and into Sebastian's head and his tensed body relaxed immediately. There was the briefest of pauses, as the sniper went to aim for its next target: John Watson.


	25. Chapter 25

John jumped back after being splattered with blood, dropping instantly to the floor and pressing his back against the wall right below the window. Shit. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. He fished his phone out of his jeans and instantly dialed Mycroft while using his free hand to try and get the blood off of his face.

Right as Mycroft ended the call he stood, looking at Sherlock for a moment. "If you are awake," he muttered as he dialed another number, "John's being shot at. His friend had a sniper in wait. We'll drop by your flat and get the discs." He left the room calmly.

The plan had been to kill John when he inevitably showed up. However, the sniper had other plans and had killed Sebastian instead. When John didn't appear in the scope, the sniper had moved a few rooms over to the room of the other team member was laid up. How unlucky. The room was empty. There were still some loose ends to tie up. Lestrade was one of them. Thank God for being paid in advance, once that annoying Detective Inspector was out of the way the sniper planned on getting the hell out of London and retire. This tiff with Sherlock and John really wasn't any of their concern with Sebastian and Moriarty out of the way. They fled the scene after packing up their rifle.

The nightmares had brought Sherlock somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. Mycroft's words reached his subconscious and after a few moments of his older brother leaving he bolted awake, sweat pouring down his face and the heart monitor beeping rapidly as he fought for breath. This prompted a nurse to come in and fuss over him. He wasn't really listening or paying attention to the nurse's idle chatter though, because all he could think about were the words that ripped him awake and whether or not it was real or just another dream. He finally regained his composure and wits, though it took longer than he have liked. The nurse finally left and he was alone at last. John needed help. He had to get out of here.

John took several deep breaths, running a hand down his face, before scooting to the side of the window to stand up. He knew that Mycroft was on his way and that the smart, logical thing to do would be to get in his car and return to the hospital room. That part of John's brain that was winning the argument was the part that didn't want to deal with Sherlock, the part that wanted to find Lestrade. He just didn't have any leads and now Sebastian was dead.

Sherlock slipped out of the bed and turned off the machines and then went about detaching all the things hooked up to his body. He yanked out the I-V last with a slight wince. No time to change into proper clothes. It took time and effort to just make it to the door and he stopped to breathe heavily. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to help John in his state, but he had to at least try. He opened the door and was caught almost immediately by a nurse coming down the hall. She tried to talk him into getting back into bed. He refused and brushed past her and picked a direction to walk down the hall. Male nurses came to stop him, but he pushed them roughly and then incited a fight. He was administered a heavy sedative and he went limp almost immediately. The doctors had him placed back in his room, with restraints on his wrists this time.

After several moments John left the room, his head low as he felt stares on him. "He was shot," John muttered. "Sniper, through the window." He left quietly and only realized when he was outside how much blood was actually on him. He didn't bother to talk to Mycroft as he slid into the car, only collapsed on the seat and let the car take him where ever he was supposed to be.

It wasn't until the second stop, the first had been the flat, that John was hesitant to get out. Sherlock was acting like a child. He took a deep breath and followed Mycroft into the hospital, ignoring the older man's pleas for him to clean up. He entered Sherlock's room with streaks and specks of dried blood on his face and clothes. "They killed him. I've got a bad feeling I was supposed to be next...or the intended target in the first place. We don't have much time." He didn't even look at Sherlock, instead keeping his eyes locked on the window warily.

John's voice barely reached his drug induced sleep. He murmured without opening his eyes, "you are okay…good…mmmsrry…" And then he was pulled back into a deep slumber.

John couldn't help the crooked smile on his lips as he watched Sherlock fall back asleep. He glanced at Mycroft before catching sight of himself in the mirror. "I'm going to wash up." He scratched the back of his neck and shifted a bit on his feet. "I think I might know where they're keeping Lestrade. You can't tell Sherlock." He met the other man's gaze. Mycroft nodded in return.

"If you think you can go in without getting hurt," Mycroft stated coolly.

"I know I can. That sniper was too sure of himself. I know I was the intended target." John nodded his head fractionally before moving toward the bathroom door and slamming it shut to try and compose himself.

Sherlock slept for an hour and when he woke up, he was confused. Why was strapped to the bed? The sedative had left his recollection foggy at the moment. Instead of straining his wrists against the restraints, he leaned forward and undid one with his teeth and then with his free hand took off the other one. He had been so intent on his task, he failed to notice if anyone else is in the room. Eventually, he looked to see if anyone else was here with him.

John emerged from the bathroom with his shirt in one hand and a towel in the other. The water dripping off his face was a faint pink and he caught it with the towel as it ran down his bare chest. He tossed his shirt toward  the chair and that was when he noticed Sherlock was awake and had managed to unstrap himself. His gaze ran down the length of Sherlock's body before meeting his eyes. He wanted to say so many things but held his tongue and turned toward Mycroft. "There's an abandoned military base," he muttered as he cocked his head to dry a bit of his neck. "Sebastian would use it. Where else could he be?" He kept his back to Sherlock as Mycroft considered the information.

Sherlock was about to say something to John, but then he turned to speak quietly with Mycroft. What was going on? Damn the drugs he was taking for affecting his memory. He would have moved closer to listen in but he had all these stupid machines still hooked up to him. It was then that he remembered what had happened. The fight with John, the nightmares, Mycroft leaving, him getting out of bed in a desperate and futile attempt. He closed his eyes, at least John was okay. However, it appeared to Sherlock that John was still upset about what had been said. Fine. He turned away from the two, his back to them as he pouted.

"It's possible. I want to look into it first with some of the people I know. We aren't sending you in blind." Mycroft looked down at John, who nodded and pursed his lips for a quick moment.

"Right. Good. Very good." He tossed the towel back into the bathroom and approached the bed, hesitantly laying a hand on Sherlock's ankle. "So? We had a bit of a domestic, didn't we?" He kept his voice even and watched Mycroft leave the room from the corner of his eye. "D'you want to talk about it or continue to pout like we're back in primary school?" He knew it was low but couldn't help it. It had slipped before he had a chance to even think about it.

Sherlock turned to look at John. He was silent a long while. He thought he had been over John sleeping with Sarah, but the truth was he wasn't and it still hurt. Then John had purposefully withheld important information. How was he supposed to trust the man in front of him anymore? Not so long ago, he would have trusted John with anything in the world. Now he wasn't so sure anymore. He and Mycroft were clearly planning something they didn't want him to know about. He wasn't sure how to formulate his thoughts in way that wuldn't sound bitter and hateful, because that was all he was feeling right now. "It would probably be unwise to try and have this conversation at this point in time. It would33d just make things worse, not better." He could be an adult when he set his mind to it, the problem was he usually didn't.

"I can respect that." John nodded sharply and licked his lips. "Let's talk business then. I ran all of this across Mycroft and he thinks it sounds good." He twisted and sat on the edge of the bed, one hand moving to absently run up and down Sherlock's thigh. "Sebastian was killed. Sniper. Pretty sure the shot was intended for me but the sniper had other plans. I really don't think Sebastian thought he was getting killed." His hand stilled for a moment and John met Sherlock's gaze. "There's an old military base they use mainly for training. It's empty for the next few weeks. It would be a perfect place to hide somebody. I want to go in and check it out. I think that's where Lestrade is."

Sherlock leaned into the touch automatically. He considered John's words carefully. "If you are right about the shooter changing plans on Sebastian, then they are probably getting rid everyone involved in the operation. Lestrade's few days just dwindled to a few hours. Assuming, the sniper who took out Sebastian didn't go to where the Inspector was located and killed immediately afterward. Though that would sloppy, but from the sound of it this person is impulsive so it's a very real possibility we are too late already." He fell quiet briefly but when he spoke again, he met John's eyes. "Are you going to go in alone?"

John was quiet for a moment before nodding. "I don't really have a choice. You are in no state to do anything like this. Mycroft is having it looked at first so I'm not going in completely blind." He reached up and grabbed Sherlock's hand, running his thumb over his knuckles. "It isn't anything that I haven't done before, Sherlock. I'm pretty well trained." He smirked, squeezing Sherlock's hand. "I promise I'm going to come back. I can't just up and leave my boyfriend, can I?"

All Sherlock could do was nod numbly. He knew that if tried to go, it would make things worse and not better. John was military trained. Yet, he couldn't help but feel worried. "Just be careful." It was all could bring himself to say because he knew he wouldn't be able to change John's mind.

"Of course." John smiled and leaned forward, meeting Sherlock's lips tentatively. "I love you. I have too much to lose so I really can't get killed." He kissed Sherlock again, deeper this time and more desperate. He didn't pull away and scooted closer to Sherlock's body as he squeezed his hand.

Sherlock surrendered to the kiss immediately, his free hand wrapping around John to pull him closer still. His other intertwined with John's giving it a tight squeeze. He broke the kiss momentarily to speak, "love you too," and then resumed kissing. Not aggressive like usual, but passionately and with meaning.

John let one hand move to tangle in Sherlock's hair as he shifted his body to lay beside him. He let his other hand stay on Sherlock's lower back, rubbing the muscles soothingly. He pulled away to take a deep breath, his eyes searching Sherlock's face before he dropped his mouth to Sherlock's neck. "I wanna shag you so bad right now." He took a deep breath and knew most of this was still from the adrenaline rush he had gotten earlier but he didn't care. He pressed his hips forward and bit down on Sherlock's neck.

Physically, Sherlock wasn't up to the task but that didn't stop him trying. He bucked under John and growled from the bite. He slid his hand under John's shirt and scratched lightly upon the skin. He nibbled on the only area available to him at the moment, which was John's ear. The drugs were once again wearing off, but he ignored the distant pangs his body emanated and instead tried to focus on all the pleasurable sensations going on.

John took several deep breaths and glanced at Sherlock. "You okay?" He took a deep breath and slid to the side of Sherlock, shoving his hand down the front of his pants and letting out a soft moan. "J-Just rest." He said through gritted teeth, pressing his forehead against the side of Sherlock's shoulder.

The question didn't surprise Sherlock, since he was lacking the usual aggressiveness he had become rather fond of late. He lied with a nod of his head because in moments like these he found it difficult to speak most of the time. Resting. That sounded nice. His whole body really didn't want to cooperate, most notably his penis. He supposed most men would be embarrassed but his analytical mind understood the basic functionality of the human body and why it would be impossible to get an erection right. Given enough time he could, because with every passing moment it became clear that the drugs were losing their effect.

John pulled his hand away from Sherlock with an impatient sigh, slamming his eyes shut as he undid his own belt and the button of his jeans. He met Sherlock's lips as he shoved his hand down his own pants, pressing his moan against Sherlock's mouth. His breathing picked up slightly as he started to stroke himself in quick, rough movements. He didn't want to make Sherlock's condition worse and, honestly, he needed to do something to relieve the stress of the day. Giving himself a hand job wasn't really what he had in mind but it was really his only option. His hips moved slightly on the bed, his wrist bumping against Sherlock's stomach as his kiss got more aggressive.

Sherlock watched John with a sense of mild fascination mixed with curiosity. He had never pleasured himself before and seeing someone else do it was intriguing to him. He was distracted easily and quickly by the kissing though and he returned it. For a moment, he considered sliding his own hand down John's pants too but he didn't want to interrupt. So, he continued running his fingers along John's back to keep them busy.

John pulled away from Sherlock's lips with a playful nip, biting his own bottom lip as his body tensed for a moment. His teeth slammed against each other as his hips jolted forward, a broken moan escaping his lips before he managed to slow his hand down. "H-Here," he whispered and moved his hand from his pants to grab Sherlock's. "Just follow my lead." He opened his eyes, they were dark and hooded as he guided Sherlock's hand down his pants and wrapped it around his erection. A small sigh came from John as he wrapped his hand around Sherlock's and squeezed.

Sherlock complied, smirking wryly at the memory of calling John the submissive. Yet, here he was being completely compliant, still and just taking everything in. Really, it wasn't surprise. They were both very strong personalities and it wouldn't surprise Sherlock if the roles reversed often depending on the other's mood. He found himself a bit anxious, because he had never done this before at all. He didn't want to squeeze too hard but John pretty much solved that dilemma for him when the other man did it for him. The skin was soft to the touch but the cock was already hard. What a very strange combination. He allowed John to control the movement and speed of his hand, because really he had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

John bit his bottom lip as he moved Sherlock's hand. "Christ..." His face scrunched together and he bucked into Sherlock's hand. "T-This okay?" He sucked in a loud breath and moved their hands in three quick strokes, blindly kissing Sherlock's cheek and running his tongue down to his jaw. "Can stop if you wa-" John jerked his head up, the muscles in his neck tensing as he moved their hands faster. "Yes, Sherlock." He opened his eyes to roughly meet Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock was memorizing the speed and pressure of each stroke, so he would be able to reenact it at a later date on his own accord. His eyes closed from the licking and kissing with a murmur of appreciation. A brief, "mmmhmmm," escaped from his lips to John's question. He returned John's kisses, nipping on the bottom lip lightly.

John tensed suddenly, moaning into Sherlock's mouth as he came. "Ah, fuck." He went limp instantly with a blush on his cheeks. "I usually last longer." John opened his eyes and managed a breathy laugh. "Made a bit of a mess." He slowly pulled Sherlock's hand from his cock. It had shocked him how quick he had come undone. Part of it was probably because Sherlock's hand was heaven, even if he was moving it. "D-Didn't mean to use you like that."

Sherlock's hand became sticky and he removed it so he can inspect the mess on it. His gaze shifted to John and he smirked a bit. "It is fine. It was an interesting experience. Although, anytime I think I have all these intimate interactions figured out something new comes up. Always something new to learn it would seem, but it keeps me from getting bored." The smirk got bigger and he looked around for something to wipe his hand on. He settled for the wall behind the hospital bed.

John laughed as he watched Sherlock, grabbing his wrist gently. "Sherlock!" He burst into laughter again, shaking his head. "You can't just wipe your hand in the wall in the hospital. Use your blanket." His lips drew into a wide smile as he leaned forward and gently met Sherlock's lips. "New experience? You mean...Well, the other day on the couch, obviously, but you've never..." He cleared his throat as his cheeks turned pink. "You've never touched yourself?"

Sherlock shrugged and finished wiping his hand on the wall anyway. He arched his brows at John's questions. "No. Do…most people? I was never interested in it or curious to be honest." He shrugged again, wincing this time as the motion tugged at his side where his stitches were. In his moment of fascination, he had temporarily forgotten about the pain he had been feeling. Now it was back, in full throttle because the effects of the medications had completely worn off.

"Yeah, I think most blokes do." John mirrored Sherlock's shrug but froze right away when he noticed the wince. "Shit. I should have waited," he muttered, twisting slightly to inspect Sherlock's stitches. "You aren't bleeding but you are in pain. More pain medication?" He dropped back on to the bed with a childish grin, pressing the tip of his nose against Sherlock's own. "I can stay up here if you like, keep you company until I have to leave."

"No, not right now. It can wait. I will hold off until you are ready to leave. The drugs make me sleepy and make my brain foggy. Since we are on the subject, you should take back up John. I'm sure one of Lestrade's people would help you. Donovan maybe or God forbid Anderson." Sherlock smirked ever so slightly, but the look in his eyes held an intensity to them, showing the depth of the worry he was feeling.

After a moment of hesitation John spoke, sighing a bit. "I have talked to Donovan. Or, well, Mycroft has." He paused and gently kissed Sherlock. "I'll be fine. Please trust me. I'm doing this for Lestrade, for Mycroft." He met Sherlock's lips again in an attempt to calm him down. "I've done this before. I've been in so much more danger and guess what? I'm right here. I can do this." He ran a hand up Sherlock's stomach lightly. "Let's talk about something else. Tell me a story about yourself before we met." A smirk took over John's lips as he met Sherlock's gaze.

Sherlock sighed. He didn't want to change the subject. "John, damn it. You wanted me to work with Lestrade, when you were in the hospital. Don't make me climb out the window and come after you." He was only half joking with the last part, the same worried look in his eyes.

"Alright. Fine." John nodded a bit and licked his lips. "I'll have Donovan going with me. There will be two of us." He smiled softly before pursing his lips. "D'you mind if I sleep before hand?" He kept his voice and face void of emotion as he asked the question. He knew Sherlock would be able to deduce that he was nervous so he hid his face in Sherlock's chest, inhaling deeply and frowning when all he smelt was the hospital. He laced their fingers together and squeezed, closing his eyes to take the moment in.

Sherlock nodded in response to John finally agreeing and then leaned his head against John's, an arm wrapping around the former army doctor to draw him closer into the snuggle. He shifted a bit, so his side wouldn't be in so much pain. It didn't really work; if anything it just got more agitated but he ignored it.

John placed a kiss against Sherlock's chest and sighed. "Want me to move? I think you might be more comfortable." His words slur together as sleep overran his voice. "Help you sleep..." The sentence ended in a yawn. He opened his eyes and tiredly glanced at Sherlock. "You need to get better."

"No, I am fine. I can sleep after you leave, but you should sleep if you are tired. You have a rescue mission to mount soon." Sherlockd gave John a gentle hug, because really it was all he could muster at this point. The poison must have really done a number on his body because he was still feeling weak as a kitten.

John shifted his body slightly with the hug before nodding. "I love you." He placed another kiss on Sherlock's chest. "I love you so much. I never thought I would but it happened. It just... happened. And I'm so thankful for it because after everything you are exactly what I needed." He pressed his back against Sherlock's arms, arched his body, and met Sherlock's lips. He studied his face for a moment before relaxing and closing his eyes, falling asleep almost instantly.

Sherlock couldn't suppress the small smile that formed on his lips at John's words. Then why was there was this small part of him that doubted it? Ugh. He had forgiven John right? Why couldn't he get over this? He really didn't feel like analyzing his feelings right now, so he opted to analyze his body to preoccupy his mind. He lifted his gown and cocked an eyebrow at the long line down his chest. Apparently they had cracked open his chest. Now John can't complain about having a scarred body he thought bemusedly. There was also a small incision on his side. Well, John had said he'd had two surgeries. Strangely, the smaller cut bothered him more than the one that cut all the way down to his belly button and up to his sternum. Maybe because he tugged at the stitches all the time. Then there was the hole in his shoulder from being shot. He would certainly be bloody useless for awhile. The thought irked him.

John shifted slightly in his sleep, his eyebrows pulling together before he relaxed again. He muttered something and rolled over. The bed creaked as he pressed his back against Sherlock's chest. He restlessly shifted again. "Sherlo-" He buried his head in the pillow beneath him and moaned softly, pressing back against Sherlock.

Well, now he felt the pain in his chest as John pressed into it. However, Sherlock didn't shift and just endured it. He brought a hand to rest on the other man's head and ran his fingers through his hair lightly, hoping to help John sleep soundly.

John opened his eyes at the soft touch and took a deep breath. "You okay?" He moved away from Sherlock's chest slightly. "Can't sleep. Nervous." He yawned and lifted his head in Sherlock's touch. He turned his head and kissed Sherlock's palm with a weak smile. "Love you," he whispered and glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

"Yep, fine. Just a little sore. Nothing to worry about." It was a lie. The pain was getting increasingly worse, everywhere. Drugs were very tempting but instead Sherlock brought a slight smirk to his face to hide the discomfort he was feeling. "Nervous? Aren't you supposed to be a military man with nerves of steel?"

John chuckled and shifted on the bed to face Sherlock. "Always get nervous before big things like this, even in Afghanistan. Helps me stay focused." He grabbed Sherlock's hand and looked at their shared hands with curiosity as he laced their fingers together. "Do you love me?" He met Sherlock's gaze seriously. Sherlock hadn't returned the endearment at all and John had noticed.

It wasn't often that Sherlock Holmes was caught flat-footed but John's question most certainly did. Of course he did! How could John even question that after everything that had happened in just a few short days? It didn't even occur to him not saying it back, might be construed as such. Sherlock matched John's gaze, and squeezed their hands together. After a moment of stunned silence, he finally spoke. "Doctor John Hamish Watson, of course I love you."

John laughed at the full use of his name, his eyes lighting up. "My middle name is ridiculous," he whispered. "D'you even have a middle name? I mean, you and your brother have unique names but..." He shrugged as he trailed off and gave Sherlock a gentle kiss, nipping at his bottom lip. He closed his eyes and smiled. "Don't want to leave."

"No. I don't think anyone in our family does, although it isn't something I have done any real research in either." Sherlock returned the kiss. "You don't have to…" He said quietly, not caring that it was a selfish request.

"Yes I do. Lestrade needs us, he has been gone for a while now." John closed his eyes when they suddenly became too heavy to open. "I wouldn't want to be in his position so I want to get him out of it. He would do the same for either if us." He blindly met Sherlock's lips in a slow kiss, his tongue teasingly running across Sherlock's teeth.

Sherlock's eyes closed as well, but it was due to how nice the kiss felt upon his lips. He opened his mouth, so their tongues could intertwine together. Despite the pain and discomfort it caused, he leaned into John. The I-V tugged at his arm as well, when he put his arm around the other man trying to draw him closer still.

John shifted easily to straddle Sherlock's hips, gently moving his hand so the I-V wouldn't tug at his skin. His tongue tangled with Sherlock's and then ran across the top of his mouth before he pulled away from the kiss. "You are amazing," he whispered as he sucked against Sherlock's neck with a sense of urgency. This could be the last time they could be together and John wanted to make sure that Sherlock knew he loved him, that he thought Sherlock was perfect. He didn't voice his worries as he playfully pinned Sherlock's wrists to the bed, careful to keep any pressure off of Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock smirked up at John, "Looks like you've got me right where you want me. Whatever will I do? Or more accurately, whatever will you do? It would appear I am completely at your mercy my dear doctor."

"Hush," John growled, glancing at the window in the room to make sure the blinds were down. His eyes glanced up at Sherlock before he released Sherlock's wrists and slid back to rest against Sherlock's shins. "Gotta be quiet," he whispered as he lifted Sherlock's hospital gown and quickly grabbed his penis, giving it a few strong strokes.

Sherlock was about to reply with a snarky retort but it was quite quickly forgotten from John's touch. His eyes closed, as he whimpered, his lower torso bucking reflexively. Pain mixed with pleasure, as his movements agitated the areas he had just had surgery on. He concentrated on keeping his breathing even, so his heart rate wouldn't go up and cause the heart monitor he was hooked up to go off. Personally, he didn't care if anyone else knew what was going on or not but John was a little more sensitive to that kind so he made the effort anyway.

John smirked and glanced at Sherlock, pulling his hand away with a cocky laugh. He pulled his dog tags over his head so they wouldn't get in his way, tossing them on Sherlock's stomach, and lowering himself to place several kisses on Sherlock's hip bone. Both of his hands gripped Sherlock's waist as he swiftly took his cock into his mouth, tongue on the underside as he moved down slowly and hallowed out his cheeks.

Any control Sherlock managed to have, was lost as soon as John's mouth enveloped his penis. His eyes opened in pleasant surprise as a throaty moan passed from his lips. His hands were still above his head, fingers closing into his palms tightly. His body squirmed, from the new over whelming sensation. He was no longer able to keep up his controlled breathing and every intake and outtake was quick and breathy. He suddenly cared very much so if they get interrupted because he didn't want this amazing feeling to be halted. One hand dropped to the edge of the bed and he yanked out the plug of the heart monitor before it could go off.

John watched Sherlock's hand and chuckled around his penis, lifting his eyes to meet Sherlock's gaze. He slowly lifted his mouth before plunging back down again, humming softly as he did so. He lifted a hand to grab Sherlock's and moved it to rest on the back of his head. There was a pause before he sucked gently and bobbed his head several times.

Sherlock's breathing became more erratic, the pain to pleasure ratio shifting in favor of pleasure rather easily. It didn't take long for his cock to become hard. He didn't last long either, his body tensing momentarily before he came and then went limp with a loud moan of pleasure. He continued to breathe deeply, almost panting. His upper body began to ache, with every rapid rise and fall of his chest. "Th-that…" He trailed off, unable to form any real coherent thought right now.

John swallowed easily, pulling away slowly and finally releasing Sherlock's penis with a pop of his lips. He ran the back of his hand across his mouth and grinned at Sherlock. After a long pause he pulled Sherlock's hospital gown back down. "Please breathe." He laughed nervously with a blush across his cheeks. "That was certainly unexpected, I'm sorry." He let his hand brush across Sherlock's hip softly.

After a few moments Sherlock's breathing began to return to normal. "Good God man, don't apologize. That…fuck…" He rarely swore, not because he considered it crass but he preferred to use more intellectual words. "...I don't know what that was…" He trailed off yet again, as a thought occurred. "Wait…did you just swallow that?" His eyes closed from the light touch of John's hand, his leg twitching slightly.

John watched Sherlock happily, biting his bottom lip before laughing. "Yes, I did swallow." He licked his lips and shrugged. "Not a big deal, less of a mess." He blew air from his nose and shifted against Sherlock's thighs. This was perfect and if John never made it back then at least he made Sherlock happy and gave him new experiences. "Why do you ask?"

Sherlock opened his eyes again, to look down John. "Just...seems strange is all… Did it taste good? Did it go down easy?" He was a curious man by nature, and he liked to learn new things. It didn't occur to him that the questions might be awkward or inappropriate. He made a living off of collecting and analyzing data, so to him that was all he was doing now.

John twisted his mouth to the side. "Uhm, I've never really thought about it. It doesn't taste bad, really and I didn't have any trouble with you." He wanted to say that he had practice while he was overseas but kept his mouth shut. The last thing he needed was Sherlock getting jealous after his first blow job. "I would kiss you right now but I don't want to gross you out." He laughed as he shifted to lay down next to Sherlock.

Sherlock arched a brow. "Gross me out? Why would that be gross?" He thought on that a moment. "Is that one of those social things that most people frown on?" He scratched at his chin absently. He had forgotten how scruffy he had gotten and it was worse than when he had last checked the day they had gone to the crime scene. He snuggled closer to John as he remarked, "I can't wait to shave. This facial hair isn't working for me."

"Not really but..." John cut himself off and met Sherlock's lips, prying them apart with practiced ease. He pulled away and licked his lips. "See, just tastes a bit different." He moved a hand to run across Sherlock's stubble. "Mmm, I don't mind it. Looks a bit different and the moment you can get it off you should but for now I don't mind." He ran his hand down to Sherlock's shoulder. "But you liked that? The blow job?"

Sherlock took in the taste. It was a bit salty but other than that it didn't seem to have any notable flavor. "I hate it." He replied with a slight pout about his facial hair. The pout was quickly replaced with a smirk. "Yeah, it was fantastic. Completely different experience than with the hand, although I would say it was better. Not sure words could adequately explain the sensation it provided."

"Only you would put it into that much detail." John laughed but it was immediately cut short when the door to the room opened and Mycroft entered.

"The base is relatively clear and we're fairly sure we found the building where the Lestrade is being held." He held out a Manila folder. John slowly pulled himself away from Sherlock to stand on the ground. He flipped through the given information and nodded. "We also brought you a few things," Mycroft said as he tossed a black duffle bag into John's arms.

John unzipped the duffle bag as he set it on the ground, not caring about Mycroft's presence as he pulled his jeans off and slipped on a pair of new ones, followed by a white shirt. He effortlessly slipped a pistol from the bag to stay between his back and jeans before grabbing the pair of comfortable shoes and slipping them on. "I'm going in with Donovan then?" Mycroft nodded and then left, sensing John's unrest. The soldier turned toward Sherlock hesitantly, taking a shaky breath. "Keep my tags," he motioned his head toward the silver chain tangled in between the blankets.

Sherlock was about to reply when his older brother came in. He hated that he would have to stay here in the hospital. He should be there with John, not Donovan. He glanced down at the dog tags. He didn't want to keep them, but he picked them up anyway. He was about to speak again, but was once more interrupted.

Donovan strolled in. "Hey Freak. John." She nodded to each in turn. "Just so you know, I'm not doing this for either of you. I'm doing this for Lestrade. He's a good man and you guys got him wrapped up in your stupid…" she paused for the right word, "…games. I'll be outside when you are ready." She left just as quickly as she had come in.

"Have fun working with her." Sherlock remarked with a faint smirk. At least John wouldn't be going in alone and even if he pretended otherwise she was a capable and competent person. They just had never gotten along.

John laughed nervously. It was forced, like his smile, and he didn't know what else to do. "I'll try," he muttered as he hesitantly met Sherlock's eyes. "I'll do my best, I mean. For you and Lestrade." After a shaky breath he moved forward, meeting Sherlock's lips roughly. It didn't take long for him to tangle a hand in Sherlock's hair, taking control the best he could in his state. "I love you," he whispered against Sherlock's lips, keeping his eyes closed. "Please don't forget that."

Sherlock returned the kiss but broke it after a moment, his light colored eyes fixated on the man in front of him. He wanted to tell John he could still back out, but worrying wouldn't help here. "You will do fine. Just be careful. Be wary of possible traps or bombs. Bombs rigged to traps. That kind of thing. If you don't rush things, you should be fine. You are a capable solider and you have Donovan." He offered a small smile of reassurance. John didn't really need a pep talk, he figured. Really, it had been for his own benefit he supposed. "I love you too, John. Stay safe. Just be careful."

"Anything for you." John placed a quick kiss on Sherlock's lips again before the door opened and Mycroft entered the room. The look on his face was bored but John didn't notice, kept his head down as he brushed past the older Holmes brother to get into the hall. If he stayed any longer he would back out and stay in the hospital. He kept his head low while he stood in the hall, taking calm and measured breaths and trying to get himself focused.

"He'll be fine," Mycroft muttered as he glanced at Sherlock. "We both know that."

Sherlock merely nodded at Mycroft. He shifted in the bed, so he would be a little more comfortable and did his best to continue to ignore the pain in his upper body. He stared at John's dog tags for a moment before slipping them over his head so they could hang around his neck. With any luck a nurse or someone would be in to administer a drug dose, not because he cared about the pain but because he was hoping it would induce sleep so he wouldn't have to think about anything. It wasn't often that Sherlock Holmes didn't want to think.

The nurse moved into the room, glancing sympathetically at Sherlock before putting more pain medication into his I-V. "You'll be awake by the time he gets back," she whispered before leaving the room.


	26. Chapter 26

It didn't take long for the pain killers to take effect and Sherlock drifted off into the drug induced sleep. No dreams or nightmares found him and he slept for an indeterminable amount of time.

For John, it all happened in a blur. He and Donovan are ushered into the back of Mycroft's black car. The brief was extensive. They were warned of where any issues may be experienced and where a lot of people may be, armed and unarmed. It was entirely too short for John's liking but he was suddenly sneaking quietly around a building, gun drawn, with Donovan at his side. She was nervous, he could tell. He had seen it before in Afghanistan. He rested a hand on her shoulder and he felt her relax marginally.

The final stretch was the worst. There was smoke, a fire, and Donovan fell to the ground when a bullet rang past John and hit her leg. He was too focused, she was shouting and so was Lestrade. All the smoke in the room was causing him to cough and gag, but he couldn't think about that because of Sherlock. He needed to make it out and go back to his side. It wasn't an option.

He pulled Lestrade from the burning building. The Inspector was picked up right away by a medical crew and John's only lucid thought was Donovan. She was still in the flames and she couldn't exactly run. Shouts from surrounding medical personnel were ignored and John dove right back into the building, emerging minutes later with a stumble and dumping Donovan on the ground.

Then it was black. Cool. Quiet.

"John?" That was Mycroft. He knew that voice. He could recognize the slight sway and rock of a car.

"Lestrade?" His throat burned, his lips tugged and cracked. He could taste blood.

"Hospital. Sherlock's room. Bit worse for wear but he will pull through. So will Donovan." He had to be talking with a smile, with relief.

"Right. Good." John slowly sat up as the car stopped, stumbling into the hospital and following muscle memory to Sherlock's room. Sure enough, Lestrade was asleep in a bed several feet from Sherlock's. He was thinner, bruised, there was a deep gash above his eye. But he was alive. That was all that mattered.

John ignored the nurse who entered the room, nearly begging that he get medical treatment of his own. He was completely black, covered in soot and reeking of smoke. He could feel blood coming from somewhere and he knew his bullet wound on his right side had stained the white shirt crimson. It was sticky and warm against his side. He fell into the bed beside Sherlock, drugged and asleep, and went limp almost instantly snuggled against Sherlock's side.

Movement next to him brought him back to consciousness slowly. Sherlock turned with a groan as his eyes opened and gradually focused in on John. He took in the appearance of the doctor's form, thinking for a moment this might be a dream. His flatmate didn't look good. Ignoring the tugging from the cords and I-V he turned some more so he could envelop John in a full hug, pulling the smaller man toward him.

John woke with a small groan as Sherlock's arms surrounded him. His body hurt everywhere and breathing burned his lungs. "Hi," he whispered against Sherlock's neck, weakly lifting an arm to hug him. He noticed black streak across Sherlock's hospital gown. "Christ, I must look horrible." His sentence ended in a cough. "We got 'im." A grin tugged at his lips as he relaxed again, motioning his head toward Lestrade.

Right now, Sherlock didn't give a damn about Lestrade. All that mattered was that John was back in his arms and safe. "You should get checked out. Given the soot all over you and the coughing, you may have smoke inhalation. It can turn serious if it goes without treatment, as I am sure you know."

"Mmm, no, like it here with you." John pulled back slightly from Sherlock, his eyes bright against his completely black face. He grinned sheepishly. "How are you doing?" His voice cracked and he could taste blood again, cringing when he realized it was his lips cracking. "I love you." He lifted a hand, tangled it in his dog tags and tugged them playfully before resting his hand on Sherlock's chest.

"Better, finally getting some strength back. With any luck, I will be able to leave here soon. I know you do, I love you too." Sherlock's eyes held a worried look as he continued to take in John's appearance. "If you don't get someone in here to check you out, I will."

John shook his head, his eyes tightening shut. "'M fine, really. Just tired." He licked his lips as he rubbed the side of his face against the sheet below him, blackening it and revealing the slight redness of his skin. The hand on Sherlock's chest released his dog tags and slid to rest above Sherlock's bellybutton. "Go back to sleep."

Sherlock shook his head. He found the call button and pressed it. "John, I am serious. You _need_ to get checked out."

"Sherlock!" John attempted to yell, grabbing Sherlock's hand with as much power as he could manage. "I just want to stay with you." He shot a glare in Sherlock's direction as the nurse entered the room, looking relieved. "Christ, I'm fine. I am really doing alright," he stated as he was pulled from the bed, following the nurse despite his arguments. He glanced one last time at Sherlock before he was escorted from the room.

"Good to see you are trying to knock some sense into him." Lestrade's eyes were closed but there was a smirk on his lips. The raspy voice was new and something not even he had recognized but he figured the fire during his rescue was to blame for that. "Good to see you again."

Sherlock looked over to Lestrade for the first time and then shrugged. "Had the roles been reversed he would of have done the same. Smoke inhalation isn't something you just ignore. It can cause serious damage and even death." Worry still lined his eyes but he managed a smirk. "Surprised you aren't with Mycroft, Detective Inspector."

Lestrade laughed a bit and finally opened his eyes, turning his head to look at Sherlock. "Can't exactly move and he is off doing something so I guess I'm stuck here with you." He shifted slightly in the bed, wincing. "So is there any particular reason why I was kidnapped? Wasn't exactly how I planned on spending my past few days." He fell against the mattress when it suddenly hit him. "Wait, why are you in the hospital?"

Sherlock didn't really feel like reiterating the story but it would give him something to think about other than worrying about John. "Guy named Sebastian kidnapped you. As far as I can figure, he was Moriarty's number two man. He wanted to trade you for John. Obviously, that didn't happen. As far as why I am in the hospital, I got careless and got poisoned." He gave an off handed shrug at the last part.

"I would say that I'm surprised but, really, I'm not. Not with you anyway." Lestrade closed his eyes and coughed slightly. He had been cleaned off but some black soot still remained on his face and hands. "The moment I saw John..." Yhere was a pause and Lestrade shook his head. "I knew it was him, even through the fire. He was just...God, Sherlock. He ripped part of his shirt off and shoved it over my mouth." He opened his eyes to look at Sherlock. "You're a lucky man to have met him. We all are."

Sherlock smirked. "John's a good man." He didn't believe in luck or fate, but he didn't comment on it. "Do I need to get a nurse for you too?" The smirk broadened, slightly.

"Me? Oh, no." He shook his head and laughed softly. "They hve already taken care of me." He fell silent as the door opened and Mycroft entered the room. Lestrade smiled weakly.

"John is decent. They washed him up and gave him some medication. He had a few burns, cuts, bruises." Mycroft paused and looked at Sherlock. "Some bruises were around his biceps, oddly in the shape of some fingers... and love bites on his neck." He cleared this throat and took a quick glance at Lestrade. "We should see him soon, even gave him some new clothes." Mycroft smiled at Sherlock tightly before moving across the room and pulling the privacy curtain when he was next to Lestrade's bed.

Sherlock shifted his gaze to Mycroft as he entered the room. He smirked, rather smugly, at his older brother. Even though the curtain was drawn, he shifted away from Lestrade's bed and laid uncomfortably on his side. John's dog tags jingled from the movement, and he brought his hand up to hold onto them. He gave them a tight squeeze and it barely loosened as he submitted to sleep once more.

John wasn't typically stubborn when it came to medical care. After all, he was a doctor and knew what it was like to put up with rather annoying people. Today, though, he argued and made the nurse's job difficult. He didn't bother to use the soap while he showered, prompting a male nurse to do it for him. He didn't take the medicine that was given to him until it was practically shoved down his throat. The only time he did cooperate was when Mycroft entered the room with a change of clothes, which he gladly accepted. With his clean up done and his medical care finished he moved right back into Sherlock's room, crawling into Sherlock's bed and pressing his chest against Sherlock's back. He needed sleep and was extremely happy to find Sherlock already dozing. He wrapped an arm protectively around Sherlock's waist, folding his other arm under his head, and feel asleep almost instantly.

Even in sleep, Sherlock's body relaxed and snuggled instantly into John's. He didn't wake up again until almost half a day later, because his body was still recovering from the poison and two surgeries. That and he had nothing to stress or worry about, so his mind and body was able to rest peacefully. He groaned, eyes flitting open slowly. He was feeling better at least and he could tell he was starting to get his strength back. His fingers had stayed curled around John's dog tags the entire time he slept and he finally unfurled them and wiggled them to return the blood flow to the phalanges.

John groaned slightly behind Sherlock, pressing closer to the warm body and burying his head into the back of Sherlock's neck. "Trying to sleep," he whispered roughly despite placing a kiss just below Sherlock's hair line. He smiled softly and gently pulled Sherlock closer with the hand on his stomach. He had slept just as long as Sherlock, waking up occasionally to inspect his flatmate and make sure he was stable before falling back asleep. After a long pause he sighed and started drawing lazy shapes against Sherlock's stomach through his hospital gown. "Feeling better?"

Sherlock smiled and he turned so he could face John. "Yes. Much better actually. Does this mean I get to go home soon then?" He asked hopefully. His empty hand found John's and intertwined their fingers together. "Never thought I would say this, but I think I might need a vacation after all of this. Or at the very least, a boring day or two at the flat."

John managed a weak smirk, squeezing Sherlock's hand before shaking his head. "Probably not. Have you seen what they did to your chest recently?" He slowly opened his eyes, studying Sherlock intently. Vacation. The thought made his lips twitch in a bit of a smile. "Yeah. A vacation. Just the two of us." He lifted his head to meet Sherlock's lips, lingering a bit with the promise of something more when Sherlock got out of the hospital. "Nobody to interrupt us," he whispered against Sherlock's lips, raising a brow mischievously.

Sherlock pouted at the thought of not being able to leave soon. He didn't care that his chest had been cracked open, or that he had a hole in his shoulder, or that his side was stitched together. He wanted _out_. The pout twisted into a smirk. "A vacation with just us, hmmm? I think I might be able to be talked into that."

"I have to talk you into that?" John asked with a laugh, nudging Sherlock's chin up with his nose and placing an open-mouthed kiss on Sherlock's neck. He sucked at the skin several times. He checked over his shoulder, realizing that Lestrade had been moved to another room. He grinned and returned to Sherlock's neck in a new spot. "We'll go to some fancy hotel," he whispered, absently running his hand across Sherlock's crotch through his hospital gown. "I will fuck you against the door the moment we get there." He nipped at Sherlock's collarbone. "And you'll beg and plead and scream." John pulled away to meet Sherlock's gaze with a cocky half-smile.

Sherlock rolled toward John even more, so he was practically on top of the other man. "What makes you so sure, I am the one who's going to begging and pleading? You are the submissive one, remember?" He smirked down at John and then began nibbling on his earlobe.

John let out a loud sigh and lifted his hips slightly into Sherlock's body, moving his hands to dig into Sherlock's shoulder blades. "Because you are weaker than me," he stated smoothly as he spread his legs so Sherlock could fall between them easily. "And because I know you want it. You want to claw at my back and scream for all of London to hear." He swallowed hard and bit his bottom lip to stifle a groan, his hips jerking up again.

Sherlock stopped nibbling to look at John with a smirk and a bemused look in his eyes. "I'm the weaker one, am I? You want to test the theory when we get out of here? I may a have a thin frame, but don't let my size fool you." He was about to say more but John's hips knocking against his distracted him effectively, his own grind down into John's anxiously. He met John's lips, his tongue gliding along the bottom lip lightly.

John surrendered to the kiss, opening his mouth eagerly to Sherlock's tongue. He moaned again and tightly wrapped his arms around Sherlock as his hips thrust several times against Sherlock. He grinned a bit as his dog tags hung from Sherlock's neck, resting against his chest. As he pulled away from the kiss with a gasp he smirked, licking his lips. "You are right now. Besides, I want to show you what it's like to be the subordinate, to beg for something and not know what to do with yourself." He moved a hand to Sherlock's hip to hold it still as he bucked against it roughly.

Sherlock's eyebrows raised a bit, the smirk ever present. "Oh really? Why Doctor Watson, I didn't think you had it in you. This could prove interesting and fun. I just might let you get away with that, but I will make you work for it first though." The smirk broadened and his lower body twitched in response to John's rough bucking. He let out a low growl of excitement, one hand sliding under John's shirt and scratching lightly against his skin. The other hand moved to run along John's pants line teasingly. He leaned down once more, biting John's neck.

John slammed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth shut, lifting his head to press his forehead against Sherlock's shoulder. It was shocking for him because this was Sherlock who had needed help the day before in giving him a hand job. Now it seemed that Sherlock had found confidence and wasn't afraid to show it off. "Fuck, Sherlock." He pressed in his hand eagerly, bending his legs and pressing his feet against the mattress as he bucked again. This wasn't healthy by any standard but he had rescued Lestrade, saved Donovan's life and all he wanted was to release all of the pent up frustration. Sherlock above him seemed like a logical option in his clouded mind. "Need you," he muttered as he moved a hand to tangle in Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock smirked victoriously, and whispered in John's ear. "Who's the submissive now?" He liked to win, at everything he did, which was where the confidence had come from. He proceeded to nibble on John's ear, his tongue running inside and outside of it thoroughly. His hand slid down John's pants, fingers lightly and teasingly trailing along John's inner thigh. His fingers scratched a little harder on the doctor's chest, his lower body rocking into John's in a steady but rough rhythm.

"Christ." John tugged at Sherlock's hair. "Me. I am," he admitted breathlessly as he writhed against Sherlock's hand on his thigh. "God, Sherlock." John didn't know what to do, between wanting to beg for Sherlock to just bloody touch him and responding to all of Sherlock's attention he was going mad. His other hand navigated through the heart monitor and I-Vcords to squeeze Sherlock's ass.

Sherlock growled from the tug and in return bit John's collarbone, with just enough force to leave temporary teeth indentations and then began sucking harshly on his neck, to add a few more marks that were already there. His hand scratching on John's chest trailed down to his pants and with his thumb and forefinger wiggled the button undone. His hand then slid down to explore and came to caress John's cock he gripped it surely, fingers massaging it. His other hand continued its teasing, light touches up and down John's leg. His steady rhythm got a little erratic as it picked up speed anxiously, causing his heart monitor to start beeping, but he just ignored it.

John shouted at Sherlock's touch, his penis now completely hard. He turned his head away from Sherlock's teeth and searched for the plug to the heart monitor. Nobody was going to stop this, not now. He wrapped his hand around the thick white chord and pulled, breathing a heavy sigh of relief when the sound of Sherlock's erratic heartbeat was no longer audible. He lifted his hips to push against Sherlock's hand and pulled at Sherlock's hair again so he could roughly meet his lips. He pulled away from the kiss with a soft moan, his eyes darting around Sherlock's face. "You okay?" He asked breathlessly.

Sherlock growled into the kiss and then merely nodded in response to the question. He was far too focused on what was happening between the two of them, for anything else to really register at the moment. After a few moments of massaging John's cock with his fingers, he began to stroke up and down it fully with a moderate pace. His lower torso was frantically bumping into John's, his other hand finally coming to a halt just above the doctor's knee where he held onto for some kind of support.

"Christ, yes." John wrapped his fingers in Sherlock's hair, his other hand lifting the hospital gown to scratch at Sherlock's lower back. The bed was shifting slightly with the strength of Sherlock's thrusts, creaking a bit as his hips started to move as well. "Sherlock," he said with a moan, low and from his chest. He took several short and shallow breaths, shifting slightly to wedge his thigh between Sherlock's legs to give him more friction. "Love you," he said between gasps for breath.

It was a good thing John had unplugged the heart monitor because Sherlock's breathing had increased exponentially, causing enough of strain on his chest for his mind to faintly notice it. He swallowed hard and mustered out, "love you too," between each heavy breath. His anxious thrusting with his hips against John's affected his speed of his hand on John's cock. It became faster but it had no tempo.

The change in tempo got to John right away and his entire body tensed. He came roughly with a loud shout, his hand tugging roughly at Sherlock's hair. Without a pause John moved his hand under Sherlock's hospital gown, grasping his cock tightly and mustered all his strength to frantically pump his hand up and down Sherlock's length. "Christ, Sherlock. I love you."

Sherlock growled, rather loudly, from the tug on his hair. His cock was already hard by the time John got to it. He continued his ragged breathing, unable to form words this time around. His grip on John's leg got tighter, finger nails digging into the skin a bit. The other hand released John's penis and retracted itself from his pants. He absently wiped the sticky goop onto the sheets. As aroused as Sherlock had been by the time John had started to jerk him off, he didn't last long. He came rather quickly with a loud groan and his body practically collapsed on John afterward. His chest was really starting to hurt from all the heavy breathing.

John grunted as Sherlock collapsed on top of him, pulling his hand away from Sherlock's cock and wiping it on the sheet as well. He lazily turned his head to kiss up Sherlock's neck, nipping at his earlobe before letting his head fall back again. "Sher-" he groaned softly and bit his bottom lip. "C'mon, sit up. Need to get off your chest." His hands rested softly on Sherlock's shoulders. "How're you doing?" John had switched instantly to doctor mode.

Sherlock didn't argue and rolled off John, so he could lay on his back. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on his breathing. "Chest hurts." He finally said between breaths. "Probably exasperated the stitches." He took a few more deep breaths. "Too much breathing." His eyes opened and he stared at the ceiling, still trying to focus on his breathing. "Should be fine once I catch my breath." He swallowed deeply. "Worth it."

John grinned as he moved off the bed, adjusting his underwear before zipping and buttoning his jeans. "Yeah, worth it." He laughed softly as he looked at Sherlock's chest. He moved across the room and picked up gauze and antiseptic. "I'm just going to clean your wounds. Might sting." He slowly started cleaning Sherlock's side. "Glad you enjoyed yourself." He smirked and studied Sherlock's gaze.

Sherlock's heaving sides finally slowed down and he was able to breathe normally again after a few moments after that. His body tensed a bit from John cleaning his wounds. He met the other man's gaze and despite the stinging sensation, he gave a cocky smirk.

"Wipe that smirk off your face," John said softly as he moved on to clean Sherlock's shoulder. "I'm not that submissive all the time, by the way. I was tired." He grabbed a new gauze pad and started to clean Sherlock's chest. "Besides, you were practically speechless the entire time. Get used to it." He smirked with a wink and placed a kiss on Sherlock's temple.

The words John spoke only made Sherlock's smirk get bigger. "I actually prefer not talking, unlike a sailor mouthed Doctor I know. Not that it really matters to me, but you swear more when we…" He trailed off for a moment, looking for the appropriate word, "…fool around. More of an observation than anything."

"Bad habit I picked up when I was younger," John muttered absently. His cheeks were a bright red at Sherlock's deduction and he turned away to throw the gauze away. "You seemed to enjoy it." He climbed back into the bed and propped himself up. It took him a moment to get comfortable before and pulled Sherlock to rest against his chest. "Does the talking bother you? I figure we are going to do this a few more times and if it bugs you I'll stop."

Sherlock rolled slightly, so he was on his side and his head could rest comfortably on John's chest. One hand rested on the other man's stomach, while the other found a hand to hold. "It doesn't bother me. Like I said, it is merely an observation."

"If we weren't in a hospital I would have been louder." He laughed softly and squeezed Sherlock's hand. "I can also be extremely quiet if the situation warrants it." After a brief pause John placed a soft kiss on the crown of Sherlock's head. "I can't wait to actually shag you," he whispered.

"What is it like?" Sherlock asked, figuring John would know since he had been with both men and women. "Do you have a preference, male or female-wise?" He was genuinely curious, the hand on John's stomach making little twirling circles since John seemed to draw shapes on him all the time. He wanted to see what all the fascination was about.

John closed his eyes briefly at his touch, relaxing into the bed. "It's different," he admitted softly. "I was a Captain so I rarely took it but on occasion I liked to switch it up. Once you relax and get used to it." He shrugged and licked his lips instead of finishing his sentence. "But I was really only with men when I was deployed. I guess it doesn't matter either way. I like being with you, the idea of being with you." He tensed his stomach under Sherlock's touch. "Do you think you would like being with a woman?" He paused. "Maybe with Irene?"

Sherlock listened quietly and continued to draw his imaginary circles. He thought about John's questions for a moment before answering. "There's no doubt she and I shared a connection when we first met, but it isn't the same connection I feel with you. So, probably not." The word 'connection' was extremely abstract and he liked concrete things but no other word had seemed to fit.

"There's a difference between you and the men in Afghanistan though. They were...they were necessity. Stress..." He paused and watched Sherlock's hand. "You...it's deeper with you. It means something." He smiled and reached behind him, switching the light in the room off. "When we finally do have sex..." The pause was tense, awkward. "What do you want to do? I mean..." He cleared his throat and squeezed Sherlock's hand. "We're both dominant in some way do who will..." He laughed and closed his eyes with a shake of his head, not bothering to finish the sentence.

"Is that common? Having sex because of stress? I only ask because you said you'd had sex with Sarah because you were stressed out." Sherlock frowned at the thought, suddenly wishing he hadn't brought it up. He continued to draw his circles, making an actual image out of them in his head. "As far as giving or receiving, I guess I never thought about it. I would like to try both, at some point, I suppose."

John bit his bottom lip and focused on Sherlock's hand. "I suppose it is common. I know I'm not the only one, I mean." The silence after his answer was tense but he ended it with a small cough. "We could try both," he replied with a half smile. "That way we can both beg." A quick chuckle escaped his chest and he looked down at Sherlock. "How did you never think about sex before?"

Sherlock was quiet himself for awhile, as he analyzed and filed away the new information. He switched from drawing circles to trying to make perfect parallelograms. "Sex never held an interest for me. No intellectual benefit to it, so I never bothered. Things and people change though, obviously."

John shivered slightly at the change of shape. "It's just so different from my childhood. At sixteen I wanted to shag everything. At seventeen I did." He pressed his nose against the crown of Sherlock's head. "And here you were being a genius already. Probably saving lives while I ditched class to shag Jenny in the back of her car."

"I have been told I was very serious as child, that I never did what others considered 'normal' for my age. I guess I've never been ordinary. I don't really know, I guess they are right. I've pretty much been the same way ever since I can remember." Sherlock noticed the shiver and switched to making triangles to see if it would evoke the same response. "The back of a car? Wouldn't that be uncomfortable?"

John listened intently, shivering again as the shapes being drawn changed. "I think you are just fine, if it is any difference." He spoke softly, turning his gaze to rest on Sherlock intently. He chuckled softly and pulled his gaze up to the ceiling. "You would think it would be uncomfortable but we made it work. Somehow." He bit his bottom lip and shook his head fractionally. "Multiple times."

Sherlock smirked a bit, his own gaze staring rather intently at his hand making shapes. Having what most would consider a normal conversation was something he rarely did. He didn't seem to mind with John, but he needed something to focus his constantly fast paced mind. So, he had taken to making basic geometric shapes and having a goal in mind with each. Pictures with circles and perfectly shaped parallelograms. Now he used a mental protractor to gauge the angle of triangles he was drawing for two and then figured out the third angel on his own with primary math skills. He never drew any right triangles, because that would be too easy. It made him remember something from his childhood. "I used to play with wooden blocks and build all kinds of things when I was very young, three or four. My only real moment of childhood, I suppose. I grew up fast John, because I had an understanding for the world that most people will never comprehend in their entire life time." He fell quiet a moment and another thought occurred to him. "You would make a good father."

John watched Sherlock's hand intently, smiling softly and ignoring the goose bumps that appeared on his stomach. He listened to Sherlock's story and couldn't help but frown. At three or four Sherlock had completely experienced childhood and just moved on. It was so drastically different from anything he was used to. He almost spoke up before Sherlock's final comment knocked his thoughts off balance. Father? "Wha'?" He looked down at Sherlock's face. No, he couldn't be a father. He had spent his adult life in the military, in Afghanistan. Now he lived with Sherlock. There was no way he would make a good father.

Sherlock stopped his tracing finger to finally look up at John. He smiled, able to read the other man quite easily. "It's true. Sitting here thinking about being younger, made me wonder if I would be a good parent. The answer is no, by the way. I'd lack the patience and as everyone is so quick to point out I act like a child in a lot ways…on an emotional level at least, probably due to growing up so quick. Anyway, all that would result would me shouting and being frustrated most of the time. Then I thought about you being a father and I think you would be good at it. I wasn't suggesting we have kids, merely stating you would be a natural at being a parent is all."

"I would be a horrible father, Sherlock." John shook his head with a soft smile. "I'm a Veteran but I have considered going back into the Army once I have healed. I can't hold down a job for too long." He shrugged. "I gave up the idea of having a family the moment I enlisted." He took a deep breath and bent his head, meeting Sherlock's lips softly. "But thanks for that." His eyes closed as he let himself relax. It was nice to sit and talk with Sherlock instead of rushing to get each other off or running from some idiot mad man. "I love you."

There was a part of Sherlock that wanted to adopt, just for the sake of proving John wrong. However, the other man seemed genuinely disinterested so he dropped the subject. "You want to go back into the Army?" He asked, a frown etching upon his lips at the thought. The thought unsettled him.

John nodded with pursed lips. "I do. Steady income for us." He shrugged and noticed Sherlock's frown. "I would be fine. I promise. Given the events of the past few weeks I think I have proved to you that I can't die." He smiled softly. Sherlock didn't seem to like the idea and, to be honest, the thought made his stomach churn slightly, but he felt like he didn't belong anywhere except for war.

"I see." It was the only thing Sherlock could manage to say. He rolled away from John, so his back was to him. For once he wasn't pouting, he just didn't want the other man to see just how much that had hurt him.

John watched Sherlock for a long moment, opening and closing his mouth several times before sighing. "You're upset," he stated softly. All John could do was look at Sherlock's back. What else was he supposed to say? "I wouldn't be gone very long," he whispered as he moved a hand to rub soothingly between Sherlock's shoulder blades.

"No, it's fine. I'm fine, why wouldn't I be? Do whatever the bloody hell you want. You are an adult," Sherlock muttered. Okay, _now_ he was pouting. He moved away from John's touch, but didn't get very far when he reached the edge of the hospital bed.

John let his head fall roughly against the wall behind him, wincing when he realized how hard his head actually hit it. "Well, Sherlock, what do you want me to do? I can't do anything else! The Army was my life!" He was shouting but didn't care. The pouting of the man next to him was frustrating and he wanted to make it stop. "Stop acting like a blasted child."

"I thought we were a team. Don't you want to help me solve cases anymore?" Sherlock turned to look at John finally, his eyes far more expressive than anything he could ever say. "I'd be lost without my blogger." He broke the eye contact and shifted away once more.

The words hit John like a brick and he shifted in the bed, pressing his chest against Sherlock's back and wrapping an arm protectively around Sherlock's waist. "You were fine before me," he whispered against the back of Sherlock's neck. "And I love solving cases with you but I am more of just a tag along anyway." He placed a kiss at Sherlock's hair line. "I'm sure Lestrade would be more than happy to just have you back."

Maybe he was just being selfish in wanting John to stay. "Don't want you to go," Sherlock admitted. His eyes closed in thought and this time he relaxed into John's touch, hands coming to rest on the other man's.

"I will be here for about a month," John whispered, closing his eyes. The thought had been in his head for a while but he didn't think Sherlock would take it so hard. "We still have a month, Sherlock." He tightened his arms around Sherlock's torso. "We can write. Skype." He placed several soft kisses against the back of Sherlock's neck. "We'll be fine. I promise."

"Just a one year tour? Then you will come home?" Sherlock hated how needy and desperate he sounded but the thought of John away at war was terrifying to him. All the things that could go terribly wrong over there. Sometimes, the problem with being a genius was you did know everything.

"Yeah. One year." John smiled weakly and relaxed a bit. "I'll be back before you know it." The pause was tense and he forced himself to speak. "And I'll be fine. I promise." He nodded to assure himself of the statement. "I promise, Sherlock. For you."

"I want to go home. If we only have one month, we aren't going to spend part of it here in this stupid hospital. Maybe take that vacation we had mentioned, before you go." Sherlock didn't like feeling scared like this. It just didn't happen to him, but now every horrific thing that could possibly happen when John was away played through his mind. He clung on to John's hands tightly, as if to reassure himself that the other man was still there.

John managed a soft smile. "I think you get to leave tomorrow," he whispered softly, shifting to pull one hand away to pull the blanket over both of them. "Any idea where you want to go on vacation? We can't afford to do much right now." He pressed against Sherlock's back with a content sigh. It was scary, he would admit, but he needed to be back in Afghanistan. John Watson was built for war and as much of a rush as solving cases had been, he needed more.

"I have money John. I have more than sufficient funds in that box back at the flat. Also, rent is paid up for the next six months. I paid Mrs. Hudson up front the day you came back home from the hospital, because at the time I had planned on being away for a long time." Sherlock shifted, so he was once more facing John. His arms wrapped around the other man, in a hug, as his head came to rest against the doctor's chest.

"Then I guess the question is really where we want to go." John rested his chin on the crown of Sherlock's head and took a deep breath. "Paris? It's romantic. We could get a hotel room and then never leave." His voice faltered a bit because it felt like they were making plans for their last month together when John had the full intention of coming back. It shouldn't be making him this nervous.

"Paris? Use a little imagination John." Sherlock managed a smirk. "I don't want to go somewhere generic." He left out the rest of what he was thinking, that it could be the last month together and he wanted to it to be memorable.

John snorted and blew a breath from his lips. "Uh, I haven't a clue," he whispered as one hand moved to run up and down Sherlock's spine softly. "I fear I might not be very good at finding non-generic romantic get-aways." He took in a breath and laughed softly, managing a bit of a shrug. "We could rent a cabin in Northern Scotland? We would be alone."

"Hmm, that sounds like it could work. We can do boring, ordinary things. Like hiking, or fishing. God, John Watson what have you reduced me too?" Sherlock tilted his head so he could look at John, the smirk on his lips returning once more.

John grinned, all teeth and nearly to his ears. "I have no idea, Sherlock Holmes," he whispered before gently meeting Sherlock's lips. "Except I don't plan on letting you leave our bed for a while." The grin on his face turned mischievous and an eyebrow quirked expertly. "I am spending my last month with you and I'm going to make it count." He kissed Sherlock again, sighing against his lips.

"Right, you are going to have me begging and pleading." Sherlock grinned back. He returned John's kisses, with light little ones. It occurred to him he hadn't had a cigarette since he had stayed with Lestrade and the nicotine fix hit hard. He wasn't sure if his body was just craving the need for its daily fix or if he was stressed out about possibly only having one month left without John. It was likely a combination of both.

"Screaming so loud that the next cabin a mile away will be able to hear you," John answered proudly, a cocky smile on his lips. "We can leave by the end of the week. I'll have to meet with my superior here in London and let him know. We'll probably really only have three weeks in Scotland before I come back and get ready to go." He kissed Sherlock's temple and closed his eyes. "We can spend the last week in the flat. Order out Chinese and watch crap telly and fuck each other until we can't move."

Sherlock was about to reply, when the door opened and a nurse came in with two trays of food. It wasn't until then, he realized how hungry he really was. He had been fed intravenously at the hospital but he hadn't had any real food in a little over a week. Was that all the time had gone by? It had felt like a life time ago since John had been shot and this whole thing started. After setting down the food, the nurse gave Sherlock another dose of his medication and then left the room.

John thanked the nurse with a smile and shifted to grab his tray, tearing into the food with an obvious lack of manners. He finished the bland turkey sandwich in four bites and downed the carton of milk in two noisy gulps. The small cup of fruit was ripped open, the fork ignored, as he poured the chunks of pear and thick juice into his mouth with a grunt of appreciation. With his meal done, he placed the tray on the ground and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, glancing at Sherlock. "Want some help eating? Then you can sleep and by the time you're awake it'll probably be time to leave."

Sherlock watched John eat, having never seen the other man attack food in such a fashion before. His lips quirked into a bemused smirk. "Believe it or not John, I do know how to feed myself." He ate quickly, but not with the same fervor John had. He snuggled into John once more and his eyes closed. "I love you," he murmured before submitting to yet another drug induced sleep.

"I know," John replied even though Sherlock was asleep, wrapping an arm protectively around Sherlock's shoulders. He let his head fall back against the wall and closed his eyes with a shaky breath. It wasn't long that Mycroft entered the room with papers in his hand.

"Your papers already went through." Mycroft commented softly, looking at John with a level stare. "So you are good to go. You deploy in a month. You'll be serving a nine month tour and you'll be working out of the Kandahar Airfield." He handed John the papers and glanced at his younger brother. "Be safe."

John knew what Mycroft meant and nodded, setting the papers on the chair beside the bed and watching Mycroft leave the room. Kandahar. At least it would be safe. He let his eyes close and fell asleep.


	27. Chapter 27

It wasn't until late afternoon the next day until Sherlock woke up once more. He hadn't realized just how much he had drained himself physically when he and John had given each other hand jobs. The drugs and sleep were helping though because he was feeling much better. Then he remembered John would be going back to the war. He sighed at the thought, letting his eyes finally open.

John had been awake since the early morning but didn't bother to move, instead watching Sherlock and taking everything in. When Sherlock woke up he smiled. "Morning," he whispered and placed a kiss on Sherlock's temple, the arm around his shoulders tightening a bit. "You slept for a while. Feeling better?" He moved his free hand under Sherlock's chin to gently lift his head up.

"Actually, yes." Sherlock replied and it was true. He wasn't just saying that to get the hell out of the hospital. Although, he did want to leave as soon as possible so he asked, "We can leave now?"

"Yes, we can leave now." John smiled softly. "Your nurse came in a few hours ago. I have your discharge papers and everything ready to go." He shifted slightly and grabbed the papers from Mycroft, swiftly hiding them under Sherlock's discharge papers. "I'll grab your clothes. Sit up." He slid off the bed and moved across the room. The white bag holding Sherlock's clothes wrinkled loudly in the room before he set it on Sherlock's bed.

"Oh thank God," Sherlock replied. He was about to yank out the I-V but it was no longer there. In fact, he wasn't hooked up to any kind of machines at all now. He slid out of bed and when he tried to stand, he wobbled to and fro and he had to sit back down on the bed so he wouldn't fall over. His legs weren't used to the weight of his body and weren't quite ready to support his full frame yet. He sighed and started getting dressed while sitting instead.

John moved to stand in front of him, batting his hands away with a smile as he started to button up Sherlock's shirt. "I'm going to need to help you with everything for a while. We will be at the flat until the end of the week at least." He placed a soft kiss on Sherlock's lips and offered his hand. "Just lean on me and we'll make it." The white bag with their papers was already in his other hand and he had a reassuring smile on his face. "And then you will be relaxing in your chair with a cup of warm tea in no time."

With restraint, Sherlock refrained from yelling at John he could do things on his own. He didn't want help. However, John would be leaving soon and he didn't want to incite a fight between them in the next few weeks. For once, he had made the adult decision instead of the childish one. He grumbled incoherently in frustration but as he stood, he used John for support as instructed.

John wrapped his arm solidly around Sherlock's back and started moving, choosing to ignore the frustrated grumbles coming from his companion. "I am proud of you," he whispered softly as they managed to get out of his hospital room. "You are acting very responsible right now even though I can tell you really hate it." The smile on his lips was playful and he chuckled. Leave it to Sherlock to surprise him like this, especially given the amount of pain he must have been in.

Sherlock smirked to John, in spite of himself. "Have I become that transparent to you?" He was quiet and then admitted, "Don't want to fight with you before you go." John's support was appreciated more than he thought, because the thought of being pushed around in a wheel chair was more appalling than having to accept help while walking.

John turned his gaze away at Sherlock's admission, not wanting to share that he was thankful for Sherlock doing what he wanted. "Your grumbling kind of gave it away," he muttered as they left the hospital. "That and I just know you really well." John turned to look at Sherlock with a soft smile. "You notice little things like that about the one you love." He hailed a taxi, blushing as it pulled to the curb.

Sherlock smirked yet again, and even with John's help it took more effort and time than he would have liked to get into the cab. Once comfortable, he leaned his head on the cab's window, a hand still holding onto John's.

John squeezed Sherlock's hand, keeping his gaze locked on the consulting detective for a long moment. He needed to take his face in, needed to memorize it all for the nights when he would be alone. The cab lurched to a halt in front of 221B and John hesitantly pulled away from Sherlock's grasp, moving around the car to open the door and help Sherlock into the flat.

With help, Sherlock got out of the cab and up the stairs. It shouldn't have been such a tiring and arduous task, but it had left him a little breathless. He made his way over to the couch, and slumped down into it, glad to be off his feet. "It's good to be home again. Honestly, John if I don't see another hospital ever again it won't be too soon."

"You and me both," John remarked absently as he fell next to Sherlock. He let his head fall back and closed his eyes with a soft groan, licking his lips. "Want some tea?" He asked softly as he grabbed Sherlock's hand, resting them on Sherlock's thigh. "It'll help you relax. Give me time to go through my closet."

"Not yet…" Sherlock leaned his head onto John's shoulder. "Just want to sit here with you for a little while." He wanted to take a moment and enjoy his flatmate's company. His hand squeezed John's tightly. The other hand reached up to run his fingers through John's hair because he hadn't done it in awhile and he found that he had missed doing so.

John let out a content sigh and leaned into Sherlock's hand, a soft moan escaping his lips. It was the most relaxing feeling after the past few days. "Like that," he stated softly as he rested his head against Sherlock's. The idea of leaving Sherlock suddenly twisted his gut and shortened his breath. He pressed himself against Sherlock's side and slammed his eyes shut. "I love you."

"I know. I love you too," Sherlock replied and then pressed his lips to John's, giving a quick kiss. "Can we just sit like this together for awhile? Just snuggling?" He was quiet for a moment and then he added with a smirk, "Plenty of time on vacation to do all those other things." Part of him really just wanted to enjoy John's company and the other part of him didn't have the energy to do anything else right now.

John nodded in reply, scooting closer to Sherlock and relaxed instantly. "Snuggling with you is nice," he whispered before returning Sherlock's kiss lazily. He smiled a bit when he managed to get his mind away from the fact that he wouldn't be able to do this soon. "Favorite thing." He stifled through a yawn, shifting on the couch to rest his back against the arm rest. He spread his legs and tugged at Sherlock to rest on top of him. "C'mon, relax."

Sherlock laid down with John, his head coming to rest on the other mans chest. His one hand continued to run through the sandy blond locks, while the other came to rest on John's chest. Once more he draws some shapes, this time settling on making cubes. "Yes, I like it too. Strange something so simple and effortless would be appealing to me, but it is." He shrugged a bit, snuggling closer still to the other man's body.

John moved one hand to run softly up and down Sherlock's spine, the other running through Sherlock's hair slowly. A non-committal grunt came from his chest as he closed his eyes and pressed his face into the back of the couch. He needed to sleep. While Sherlock had been drugged he had gone over his deployment papers and watched Sherlock protectively, not moving once to do anything. He was exhausted.

Sherlock's body was relaxed against John's. He smiled into the other man's chest, even though he couldn't see. He drew one large cube on John's chest, imagining it as a Rubik's cube all mixed up. His fingers moved as if actually solving the puzzle, as he envisioned all the colors and the moves he made within his mind. He was a bit tired but he didn't want to sleep. He just wanted to enjoy what time he had left with John before the no longer former army doctor went off to war once more.

John dozed off several moments before lifting his head, his eyes narrowed as he looked down at his chest. "Are you solving a Rubik's cube on my chest?" He asked roughly, a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. He rested his head back against the couch but kept his eyes open, studying Sherlock's face. John was content to lay on this couch for the rest of his life with Sherlock in his arms. He could never move and tell people he died happy. And yet the moment he thought of Afghanistan his heartbeat picked up and he wanted to go back more than anything. He tightened his hand in Sherlock's hair and bent down to give him a soft kiss.

It took a moment for Sherlock to realize John had spoken to him, because he was rather intent on solving the puzzle. He was almost done and he took the time to finish it before looking up to John with a grin. "Well, I was. I'm done now." He cocked an eyebrow and asked, "How'd you know? Just based on the movements of my fingers? Interesting. You must have spent a lot of time trying to solve those and never got anywhere to know?" He twisted his grin into a smirk.

"Yeah, didn't take too long to figure out," John muttered, tilting his head with a laugh. "So I never solved one. No big deal. I was focused on more important things like my homework," he whispered as he shifted slightly below Sherlock, yawning. "You were doing math earlier in the hospital," he replied with a shrug. "Could tell by the triangles and your eyes." His bottom lip disappeared between his teeth as he closed his eyes again.

Sherlock let his smirk get bigger. "Homework? I thought you were busy skipping class and shagging anything with two legs?" He couldn't help but laugh about the triangles. "I think you might be spending too much time with me. You might get to be a right genius yet, Doctor Watson." He tilted his head up so he could give a quick kiss on John's nose. "If my shapes distract you from sleep, though, I will stop."

"Shagged and did the homework at the same time," John answered smoothly with a straight face before laughing. He was silenced by Sherlock's kiss on his nose, smiling a bit before shaking his head. "No, you're fine. I'll need to get some sleep tonight and if I nap now that won't happen." He squeezed his legs against Sherlock's sides lightly. This moment was perfect. They were both happy. Nothing could change that. John bent to kiss Sherlock's temple and continued to run his hands through Sherlock's shaggy hair.

"What should I draw next? Any suggestions my dear doctor?" Sherlock asked, his head resting once more on John's chest. For the moment, he settled for drawing indiscriminate lines that zigzagged and made no real shape. He made a sort of game out it, trying not to cross where he had previously drawn a line. His other hand was stretched above him, so it could continue to explore John's hair.

"Mmm, this is fine," John replied softly, his words slurring together as his head fell back. "You are going to make me fall asleep." He chuckled and lifted one leg, folding it over one of Sherlock's. The movement of Sherlock's hand was comforting, something he had never realized he had missed until now. "I love just laying here with you. My favorite thing." He moved his hand to rest under Sherlock's shirt, scratching softly at his lower back.

Sherlock played the zigzag game on John's chest a few times, each time more elaborate and ridiculous than the last game. He snuggled deeper into John's body, eyes closing from the light scratching on his back. His body was completely relaxed and at peace. "Love this. Love you. Never want it to end." Rationally, he knew that was impossible but he didn't care. He really did want to freeze this moment in time. His finger eventually stopped drawing lines as he drifted off to sleep. He hadn't meant to but everything was so perfect and his body was so calm, it had just been easy to.

John placed a soft kiss to the top of Sherlock's head, keeping his eyes open to study the man before him. It was crazy, really, how he could up and leave him just for a steady income, just to keep Sherlock happy. And to keep his own selfish needs fed. One tour. He would do one tour and return back to civilian life and stay with Sherlock. He sighed and let his head fall back, deciding to fall asleep as well. He could go through his closet later. Besides, Sherlock needed the rest as much as he did.

It was dark by the time Sherlock woke back up and he stirred lightly. He was in a bit of pain, from falling asleep on his bad side. He grunted and shifted slightly to help alleviate the pressure to the incision on his body. He wasn't sure what time it was, but judging by the position of the moon behind the clouds it was early morning, three or four.

John took a sharp intake of breath, his face tensing as he twisted slightly beneath Sherlock. "Trying to sleep," he muttered gruffly as he threw an arm over his eyes, the other one tightening around Sherlock's upper torso. For a moment he was still before he frowned at the realization that he probably wasn't going back to sleep. "You alright?" He didn't move his arm as he asked, tensing his body slightly to stretch his muscles.

"Didn't mean to wake you. I'm fine, I was just a bit uncomfortable and needed to move." Sherlock left out the part of the pain he was in, because he didn't want to worry John. He just wanted to continue to stay with the other man on the couch for as long as possible.

John pulled his hand away to study Sherlock, his eyes narrowed. "You're incisions doing good?" He asked slowly, a brow raised questioningly. He figured he should get used to waking up early anyway. "We should probably move you into a bed so there's more room," he whispered as he moved hair from Sherlock's forehead. "We can still snuggle but you need some room to actually rest."

Sherlock looked up to John with a mischievous grin, "What if I don't want to just snuggle anymore?" His hand slid under John's shirt and began to scratch lightly upon his stomach. He pushed himself closer to John's head, by pressing his feet against the arm of the couch. He ignored the friction and pain that it caused and began to kiss the army doctor's neck.

"Sherlock, you're insati-" John cut himself off with a soft moan. His stomach tensed under the scratches and his head lifted to expose more of his neck. "Fuck yes," he whispered as he moved a leg to press his heel into Sherlock's lower back. It was simple for John, really. Any sort of intimate contact, especially with Sherlock, diverted any thought out of his mind. His hands settled at the back of Sherlock's neck. "You sure?" He whispered, using his feet to press Sherlock's hips against his own.

Sherlock smirked behind the kiss and began sucking on John's neck. "Mmmhmm," he murmured between suckles. His body instantly reacted to the pressure on his hips, his lower torso pressing eagerly into the man below him. He worked his kisses up to John's ear and whispered, "how about we wake up the whole neighborhood?" He smirked again and began nibbling and licking all over John's ear. His hand under the shirt continued its light scratching, his other hand was still tangled in the army doctor's hair.

John swallowed hard and nodded the best he could. "Yes. Oh God yes." He dug his nails into the back of Sherlock's neck as he lifted his hips, pressing his erection into Sherlock's hip bone. "Bed. Now," he growled. This was going to happen, he was certain, and the thought caused a loud moan to echo through the flat.

If Sherlock had been capable, he would have picked up John and carried him to the bed. However, he knew in his current weakened state that would never work and ruin everything. He fumbled off the couch, using the coffee table for support. He was panting and ignoring the pain his chest and side was giving off. He glanced over to John, fixing his gaze on the other man and his voice was almost a whining ple., "Carry me? Need this. Need you." He didn't care if that would make him the submissive this time around, he wanted it badly and nothing was going to get in the way of it this time damn it.

John stumbled to his feet with a nod, moving toward Sherlock and pressing their bodies flush together. "Love you," he muttered as he pressed his mouth into Sherlock's neck. He bent slightly at the knees, his hands in the back of Sherlock's thighs, and in one swift movement he lifted Sherlock off the ground and wrapped his legs around his waist. John's hands splayed across Sherlock's back as he supported Sherlock's weight, waking forward with a quick stride. The moment he got into Sherlock's room he placed Sherlock in his bed, easily crawling over him to straddle his hips and roughly kissed Sherlock.

Sherlock nuzzled into John's neck as he was carried, nibbling on it lightly while he mumbled that he loved John too. He looked up at the army doctor as the other man straddled him, but as soon as they kissed his eyes closed. His arms wrapped around John's waist, pulling him closer as his fingers slid under the shirt to scratch along the back.

John gasped and reached between them, not bothering to unbutton Sherlock's shirt and instead ripping it off. The buttons flew around them, bouncing off the headboard. He lowered his mouth to Sherlock's exposed chest, sucking on the skin greedily. "Need to go upstairs and get some Vaseline." He growled as he lifted his head to meet Sherlock's gaze.

For a moment, Sherlock was utterly vexed. Oh… "Does it matter or really make a difference?" He breathed out, because really he didn't want to wait. His body was writhing and twitching into John's with anticipation and impatience.

"Yes, it really matters." John ripped himself away from Sherlock, stumbling over his own feet as he left the room in a rush. He returned a minute later, tossing a container of Vaseline on the bed as he stripped out of his jeans and pulled his shirt over his head. The bed creaked slightly under his weight as he straddled Sherlock again, his hands wrapping around his dog tags that were still on Sherlock's neck. His chest moved with every deep breath before he bent and softly met Sherlock's lips.

While Sherlock waited, he removed his ripped shirt and was in the process of taking off his pants when John came back in. He had finished taking them off by the time the army doctor had straddled him again. He deepened the kiss, his arms once more wrapping around John's waist.

John grinned into the kiss before pulling away, his tongue darting from his mouth to lick his lips. "Sherlock, if you feel uncomfortable at any time you have got to tell me, alright?" He shifted, sliding his knee between Sherlock's legs in a gentle attempt to spread them. "If you are in pain, if you don't like it...just tell me. I won't be upset or anything." He placed a gentle kiss on Sherlock's lips before his hands moved to Sherlock's underwear, giving them a gentle tug. Hand jobs and blow jobs were one thing, especially to Sherlock. What they were about to do was a very serious step forward and he didn't want Sherlock to think it was forced. He wouldn't be able to live with himself.

"It'll be fine, I'll be fine." Sherlock stared up at John. His body shivered excitedly, when the army doctor tugged at his underwear. Truthfully, he was nervous and yet anxious at the same time. He wasn't sure what to expect. If he would like it or not. So far, he had really liked everything else that came with the intimate part of a relationship. He opted to lay still, so he could take it all in, fingers resting on John's back lightly as he waited.

John bit his bottom lip and gave his head a small nod before he pulled Sherlock's underwear down, lifting himself slightly so he could pull them completely off of Sherlock's legs. "I love you," he whispered. The underwear were tossed behind him, his hand moving to flip the top off the Vaseline. "I love you," he repeated as he spread Sherlock's legs, settling between him. One hand dipped into the Vaseline, smearing a bit on his three fingers, while the other grabbed Sherlock's cock. "I love you," he moved to gently meet Sherlock's lips. His hand moved between their bodies, finding Sherlock's entrance with ease. "I love you," he said against Sherlock's lips as he slipped one finger in to the second knuckle, hooking it. "I love you," he pumped his hand several times on Sherlock's cock, moving his finger out of Sherlock and swiftly back in.

The litany of "I love you's" from John made Sherlock a little nervous. He wasn't sure how to interpret them. He didn't dwell on it long though because his body became ensnared in blissful ecstasy. A sensory over load would be putting it mildly. Sherlock gasped, from the two completely different sensations because he hadn't expected John to do both. In fact, it wasn't what he had expected at all. His breath instantly became ragged as his body and mind fought to process everything that was happening. He closed his eyes, as he struggled for a normal breathing pattern but failing. His fingernails dug into John's back, his lower torso squirming almost uncontrollably. Not from displeasure but because it was intoxicated with every sensation it was feeling and while his body wished to enhance the feeling it was having trouble keeping up.

John grit his teeth as he felt Sherlock's nails digging into his back, hissing slightly as he arched his back into it to get a better view of Sherlock's lower body. "It's okay," he whispered. "You're fine, deep breaths." He looked up at Sherlock before pulling his finger completely out of him, slowly pushing back in with two. "You're fine, Sherlock. Breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth." The hand on Sherlock's cock slowed, the touch lighter, to see if it would help Sherlock settle down. His two fingers worked completely inside Sherlock, scissoring several times before freezing. "Are you alright?"

"Fine." Sherlock breathed out. "Don't stop." He said between breaths, his eyes opening to look up at John. "God, please don't stop." He swallowed hard, his breathing finally becoming a little less erratic. Trying to speak and breathe was proving too much and he gave John a small smile of assurance, his eyes closing once more. His fingers continued to claw at John's back, mainly because they didn't have anything else to do and it was more of an automatic thing. He bucked against John with a whimper of desire.

John flashed a half-smile before it turned into a grin. "Christ, Sherlock," he groaned, letting go of Sherlock's penis to grab the Vaseline container. He pulled his fingers out of Sherlock, got another bit of Vaseline, and he entered Sherlock with his three fingers. It was quicker than he would have liked but he was eager. Sherlock was bucking beneath him which meant he was enjoying it. John took a shaky breath and closed his eyes, meeting Sherlock's lips in a sloppy kiss. "You need to tell me when you think you're ready," he muttered as he nudged Sherlock's mouth open with his tongue.

Maybe his mind was just overloaded at the moment, because he didn't quite comprehend John's meaning right away. Ready? There was more to this still? Well, fuck. Sherlock wasn't sure his body could withstand anything else, but he was insatiably curious by nature. Eventually it dawned on him what John had meant. Since his breathing was still thready, short bursts he merely nodded his consent. He returned John's kiss, sloppily and with a little force. He was breathing through his nose now, rapid fractures of hot air being expelled at staggered rates on John's face. He continued to scratch, his lower body finally found some semblance of rhythm as it rocked against the man on top of him.

Was that a nod? John took several deep breaths, swallowing as he pulled away from Sherlock's face to get a good look at him. "Okay, okay." He pulled his fingers from Sherlock and grabbed both of Sherlock's knees. "Keep them up, bent," he instructed calmly. He dipped his hand into the Vaseline and unbent his knees so he was no longer sitting back on his heels. He grabbed Sherlock's knee with his free hand, squeezing it tightly as he started to rub the Vaseline across his cock slowly. His head was bowed, chin pressing against his chest, and his eyes closed. He let out several noisy breaths from his nose before leaning over Sherlock. His free hand slid under Sherlock's lower back to arch him up a bit for a better angle. "You ready?" He asked breathlessly.

Sherlock opened his eyes when John moved away and he watched the other man with interest. He did as instructed, and moved with John. In the reprieve, he managed to get some sort of normal breathing in, followed by a few large gulps of air. He became faintly aware of the pain throbbing in his chest but promptly ignored it. "Oh God yes." He smirked a bit, as he remembered the first time John had ever said those words. That moment in time had forged a bond between him and John that would probably never be broken. His hands tangled in the sheets below him, as he braced himself.

John took a deep breath and used his hand to guide his cock into Sherlock's body. He moaned loudly, his hips moving slowly as his other hand slammed into the bed next to Sherlock's head and tightly gripped the sheet. "Ah, fuck..." He pushed Sherlock's head to the side with his own, his forehead on Sherlock's cheek, and stilled when his cock was halfway into the body beneath him. "God, Sherlock." He let out a loud breath. "Can I keep going? You okay?" He asked through gritted teeth.

There was the briefest moment of discomfort and pain, because his body wasn't used to withstanding such a thing happening. However, his body jerked in anticipation. He closed his eyes, as his breathing picked up a rapid pace once more. He gave a nod, the grip on the sheets becoming tighter. "D-don't s-stop." He wasn't sure if he was stuttering because of his breathing or because he was adjusting to the new sensations his body was giving off.

John let out a choked sound before pushing completely into Sherlock. "Jesus." He twisted the hand tangled in the sheets. His head turned to lazily meet Sherlock's lips as his hips pulled back slightly and moved forward again. "Sherlock." He let go of the sheets and searched for one of Sherlock's hands, grasping it the best he could despite the slippery Vaseline on his skin. "God, I love you," he growled. "I fucking love you." His hips pulled back and came forward with a bit more force, a moan echoing through the room.

Sherlock's hand instantly squeezed John's, and he growled into the kiss when there was a second thrust. He bit the army doctor's bottom lip before edging his tongue inside the other man's mouth to explore and tangle with the other tongue. His body began to automatically rock in time with John's movements. His whole body felt tantalizing numbness, or at least that was the best way could explain it, even though the words effectively meant opposite things. The sensation and feeling was far different than anything else he and John had done together. He hadn't been sure if we would like it, but he did. He growled again, breaking the kiss and began to nibble on John's neck.

A small shout fell from John's lips as he thrust into Sherlock with a solid rhythm. It was then that he realized he was the only one being a bit more vocal about their activity. "Shit." He squeezed Sherlock's hand and snapped his hips forward in three quick, rough thrusts. He was determined to make Sherlock scream so loud that Baker Street would know. The hand on Sherlock's lower back slid out and splayed just below Sherlock's belly button as he thrust into Sherlock again. "Ah, God, you're amazing." He nipped at Sherlock's ear the best he could.

For a moment Sherlock had to stop his biting kisses on John's neck from the quick thrusts inside, with a loud growl that ended up turning into a whimpering moan. The hand that wasn't holding onto John's, gripped the headboard behind him, to prevent himself from sliding too far. He looked up to John with a faint smirk on his lips. Really he wanted to go faster and harder, but with control he continued to submit to John's pace. His hand finally let go of John's and it found the back of the army doctor's head. He grabbed as much hair as he could grasp, tugging a bit roughly.

John opened his mouth in a gasp, letting his head get yanked back. "Ah, damn." He slammed his eyes shut as he got the hint. Sherlock would want to do this rough. He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, before he almost completely pulled out of Sherlock. He opened one eye, smirked, and thrust forward as hard as he could, doing it again and slowly speeding up. "Fuck, yes, Sherlock." His free hand grabbed a handful of Sherlock's hair and tugged gently with each rough thrust. "C'mon Sherlock, tell me about it." He growled, running his hand from Sherlock's hair to lightly wrap around his cock but not moving.

Once more Sherlock's breathing became erratic, but he still managed a twisted smirk at John's words. Talking and being loud just wasn't his style really, he had discovered. However, if it was what John wanted he would try. He growled throatily and loudly, excited from the thrusting and his hair being pulled. His body shivered from John grabbing his penis. Between breaths he sputtered out, "John...feels good...real good..." He could feel himself getting tired, his body not really ready for this kind of rigorous activity. He ignored it and continued to push himself, his lower torso writhed in time with the quick thrusts from the man above him.

John let out a strangled moan before dropping his head, his forehead pressed against Sherlock's shoulder. "Close, 'M close," he muttered as his hips snapped forward, starting to break the rhythm. The hand on Sherlock's cock started to stroke him quickly. "Love you." He lifted his head and met Sherlock's lips, breaking away almost instantly as his entire body rigid. "Sherlock." The name was a scream as John came, his hand working furiously and without a rhythm as his hips thrust lazily and slow several times. John was breathing hard, eyes closed with sweat running down his temple. "Love you, Sherlock," he whispered as his hand continued to work on his cock.

Sherlock watched John climax with the same fascination he had when the army doctor had masturbated. The sensation inside was also interesting but his mind wasn't really focused on that, because John was pumping his cock. He had already been very hard since they had got in the bedroom, so really it only took a few strokes to get Sherlock off. His body tensed, fingers digging into John's scalp and the back of the bed frame. He let out a loud groan of pleasure as he came and then went lax soon after the release. He continued to breathe heavily, his chest burning. "Love you too," he panted out between each shaky breath.

John pulled out of Sherlock with a small groan, falling on to the bed next to Sherlock with a heavy sigh. "That was..." He gulped in some air and laughed, turning his head to look at Sherlock. "Wow." He placed a small kiss on Sherlock's cheek. The bed was messy, he realized, and he slowly started to clean up. He removed the Vaseline container and slowly moved off the bed, moving into the bathroom. "Are you okay?" John asked softly as he cleaned Sherlock's stomach off gently, finishing cleaning him a bit rougher. It couldn't have been extremely comfortable with his incisions. The sun was starting to peak into the window and he sighed. "Relax, how about I make some tea?"

Eventually his breathing returned to an almost normal pattern, but his chest still hurt. Sherlock was trying to decide if was capable of staying awake, because he was very exhausted from pushing his body far beyond its limits. Pretty much his whole body ached and it begged for a dose of drug. He knew that familiar pang and promptly ignored it. Maybe after John left he would go back to using drugs, but right now he wanted to remain clean so he could enjoy this month with the army doctor. He finally fixated his gaze on John. "Think I'm just going to lay here and not move. Maybe sleep some more," he muttered and actually passed out before he realized what had happened.

The next few days went by, with just Sherlock and John enjoying each other's company at the flat. Most time was spent snuggling on the bed or the couch, John insisting nothing else be done so Sherlock could heal properly and would be able to fly and travel safely. At the end of the week, the two boarded a plane and took a much needed and deserved vacation in a secluded part of Scotland.


End file.
